Harry Potter and the Horcrux Three
by Zaxarus
Summary: Sequel to "Second Chances" and "Congregation"; follow the adventures of Harry and his friends/family; starts with OWL, 2 months after Congregation (very AU to OotP), pairings HP/DG, HG/NL, adopted Harry (Greengrass), a free Sirius, slightly maniac Ron, meddling Molly, scheming Dumbledore and Filius Flitwick as the new Headmaster. Warning: Ron/Molly/Dumbledore bashing!
1. Chapter 1 Only Time will tell

**Harry Potter and the Horcrux Three**

**.**

_**A/N**_

_**Regretfully, I don't own anything. It's all Mrs. Rowling's.**_

_This is __**part three of my trilogy**__ about the adventures of Harry Potter and Daphne Pinegrew/Greengrass. I intend to make it shorter than part two (this one should be around 25-30 chapters with 6k to 9k words each) and I won't spend nearly as much space on Hogwarts and the changes the school experiences. Most of those were already mentioned in part two and I'm certain you're able to extrapolate from there. The focus of this story will be on the fate of the remaining Death Eaters (mostly Dolohov, Bellatrix and Fenrir) as well as the search for the last Horcruxes (Ring, Diadem and the newly created Wand), not to forget about Harry and his own little problem. _

_If you're new to my trilogy (or simply to have a reminder) have a look at chapter 49 of part two "Harry Potter and the Congregation of the Asp" for __**notes/summary**__._

_**A little warning**__: the story contains bashing of Dumbledore, Molly and Ron Weasley. Also it's not about a "Hero Harry" story but one about teamwork. Please refrain from complaining about this. You've been warned._

_Special thanks go to butterfly83 who agreed to continue her beta-reading of my story._

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**Chapter 1: Only time will tell**

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_**Hogwarts – Charms Teacher Office – 16**__**th**__** of June 1996**_

.

"Shoo!"

Neville grinned softly, watching his girlfriend as she tried to shoo away the big bad tomcat. _Girlfriend_, he breathed happily, _not only girlfriend, but fiancée too_. He still couldn't believe it sometimes. He, Neville Longbottom, for a long time feared to be a squib, for years seen as a dunderhead, a clumsy fellow and a menace in the potions lab, had succeeded in snatching such a beyond wonderful fiancée.

Hermione and he were sitting in a side room of Roxanne Pinegrew's office, using the afternoon to rehearse a few fourth and fifth year lessons for their DADA exam. Roxanne was away with her family but they would see them all later. It was nice to have the opportunity to use this room. That their adored Charms professor had quite a nice library around here was certainly a bonus, especially for Hermione.

"Go. Away."

Hermione glared at the tomcat. He stared back a bit sleepy, a tad bored and mostly unimpressed. The beast even had the audacity to yawn, showing impressive teeth. He smelled of chicken and that awful sauce Balou loved so much, the sauce that always looked like a freshly disgorged bird. Paddoc always created it especially for him. There was a little stretching and bending, but no sign of him willing to leave his resting spot – right in the middle of her notes. As Hermione tried to push and heave him away, Balou played a bit of "Catch me!" with her fingers. Her fingers already had a few scratches from his impressive claws. It had been these claws that caught Petti-rat months ago. It had been those teeth that crunched Petti-rat's neck as he tried to wriggle away. Daphne loved her tomcat even more for killing the cowardly, traitorous Death Eater.

"He hates me," Hermione whined, sounding far too much like a seven-year-old to her own ears.

"He does not," Neville responded with a snigger. He patted Crookshanks who was watching the funny scene from his place on Neville's armchair rest. Since his growth spurt after the second bounding ritual, Balou was bigger, heavier and stronger than Crookshanks by far. It was still obvious which one was the alpha tomcat in this team of troublemakers and Casanovas. With Crookshanks' Kneazle senses and Balou's intellect and strength – both far above any cat Hermione ever met – they made a terrible pair to have around if they set their mind on some prank. _Fred and George would be proud_. Balou was also very charming around the cats living at Hogwarts. Even Mrs. Norris seemed to like him and he often reminded Hermione of Thomas O'Malley, the hero tomcat from the Aristocats.

"I can't learn like this," Hermione continued to whine. Balou was unimpressed and didn't move an inch.

"He certainly feels that you don't need it anymore, that you're only flustering yourself." Hermione had been far calmer than expected, Neville had to admit. She held true to her word from last summer and spent at least one afternoon each week with her friends doing funny and relaxing things, be it visiting a cinema or playing some game. Two times a week they went running around the lake to train their endurance and as often as the weather allowed it, they had a walk in the evening. Still, she remained Hermione and the prospect of doing her OWL made her nervous. Not that there was any doubts she would do great.

It certainly helped that her three friends were willing to learn together with her, seriously. Even Harry had changed since becoming Harry Potter-Pinegrew. It did wonders to his grades. The four friends had been allowed to do some special projects, adding bonus points to a number of subjects. These projects focussed on teamwork, with the girls concentrating on Charms and Potions, while the boys worked with Earth Magic and Ancient Runes.

The "Hermione/Daphne animal care product line" would hit the market on the 1st of July, distributed by Agatha Pinegrew and her partners and offering things like Hedwig's leather loop complete with warming charm, feather light spell and protection runes. Kingsley Shacklebolt, on the other hand, had accepted a number of "instant earth wall rune stones" from Harry and Neville for field-testing among some of his trusted Aurors. The wall Neville had created at the big battle had impressed him enough – him and most Aurors, many of them believing that the boy had saved quite a few of their comrades' lives with that spell.

While Daphne and Hermione already got scores above the 120% mark in Charms and Potions, the Board of Governors was still debating how to score Neville's highly unusual kind of magic – not that it was of any special interest to him. He only needed an EE in Charms and Potions – both had been unimaginable two years ago, but were easily within reach at present – and an O in Herbology. With his OWL in that subject already finished months ago, he was sitting his sixth year Herbology exam this week.

"But what if Professor Moody asks me about Grindylows?"

The ex-Auror had taken over the DADA classes after Narcissa Malfoy's disappearance. However, it was only for the rest of the school year. It was still unknown who would teach next year. So far, Moody had been far less paranoid and tense than expected, perhaps a repercussion of Voldemort being beaten two months ago.

"You'll do fine," Neville declared with determination as he walked towards her. "None of us will be able to beat Harry in the practical and Moody won't get a seizure should you actually miss a single question.

"Professor Moody," Hermione automatically mumbled, while Neville lifted Balou and her notes without any problems, his muscles playing under the tight tee. Neville smirked as he noticed Hermione's stare and slightly open mouth – the mouth with the very kissable lips. She blushed as she realized her staring.

"See anything you like?" Neville asked huskily as he leant towards her. He put his arms around her and lifted her from her cosy chair, his breath steady until he crashed his lips on hers. Hermione liked his newly found confidence even more than his well-toned chest and shoulders. She certainly didn't complain about the kissing.

_I'll continue learning later_. Neville deepened the kiss, his tongue begging entrance at her soft lips. _Far later_, she moaned softly.

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_**Interlude – The Burrow**_

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Another teenager was working on his OWL preparations as well. Only this one didn't have any friend around to support him. There simply wasn't any friend left, not after the stunt he pulled at Valentine's Day. Even his siblings mostly despised him. Ronald Weasley was a poor boy, unjustly treated by fate. This was at least his own opinion, an opinion only shared by his mother.

The good side of it? There wasn't any distraction, too. No twins pulling pranks on him, no Percy blabbering about his all-important work, no Charlie catching his attention with wild-exciting Dragon stories. He had time for learning and Joseph Hardigan's presence was all he needed to actually use the time well. This and the praise he received from his mother after getting an EE in his "Care for magical Creatures" exam. It had given him a new confidence, a confidence his teacher Hardigan hoped to use in the Charms exam as well. Transfiguration had been horrible, Potions barely been an A. He didn't expect to get any better at DADA the next day, but there was still History. Ron would have laughed a year ago into anybody's face mentioning that he would ever actually like that class, but Hardigan was nothing like sleep-inducing Binns.

_I'll make Mum proud_, Ron thought grimly_. I'll show them all that I don't need that Granger-bitch. I'm a Prewitt. I can stand on my own feet._

Ron didn't remember when he started thinking of himself as "Ron Prewitt". His mother was always careful to hide the letters she exchanged with his Dad and their lawyers but Ron wasn't stupid. He knew that divorce was a very real option. His Mum was still trying to convince his Dad that they could be together again. Ron didn't believe it anymore, and more importantly he wasn't certain if he wanted them to get back together. He liked to live with his mother only. Sometimes he missed Charlie and Bill but certainly not the rest of the pack, especially not the "we use Ron as a practice target" twins and even less his bitch of a sister.

_It was her fault completely. She'll pay for that._

"Continue," Hardigan demanded. Ron wordlessly complied. _Revenge had to wait a little more_.

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_**Dreamscape**_

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"_Tell me where he is, Potter." The dark man hissed. Antonin Dolohov looked beyond furious as he pressed the tip of his wand against Daphne's throat. His dark cloak was torn, the cracked silver mask lying on the ground. There was however no doubt about his ability to go through with his threats. A few other Death Eaters were surrounding them, most of them hidden behind their masks but one proud to show his face. Fenrir Greyback was snarling at Harry, ready to jump him and tear him apart. _

"_Tell me where you've hidden my Lord," Dolohov demanded to know. "Or your girlfriend will experience an amount of pain unimaginable to you."_

"_Don't you dare to hurt her," Harry thundered. It was all he could do being bound with his wand taken away. His friends were on the ground in front of him, Neville torn apart by the vicious Werewolf, Hermione bleeding to death after getting hit by a Sectumsempra Curse. _

"_You have nothing to demand, Potter," Dolohov snarled. "Answer my question or watch her die." He smirked viciously. "Crucio!"_

_Her screams broke his heart._

"_HARRY!"_

.

_**Hogsmeade**_

.

"Harry?"

"No," Harry mumbled, restless in his slumber. "Leave her alone."

"Harry," someone started to shake him. "Wake up, it's only a dream."

"Leave her," Harry mumbled, slowly leaving his dream behind, yet not realizing where he was. "Daphne…" He opened his eyes and saw the most beautiful sight: Daphne, healthy, unbound and without pain. "DAPHNE!"

Before she had a chance to react, Daphne felt herself dragged onto Harry's lap. He started to kiss her like mad, his face glued to hers, his arms holding to her like he was drowning and needed her to survive. Harry completely ignored the concerned look of Roxanne Pinegrew and the amused smile of his godfather Sirius. Only Daphne was important.

.

"Was it that dream again?" Roxanne asked him softly after allowing him a few minutes of silence to pull himself together. Harry nodded, his attempt to show a convincing smile failing utterly. It hadn't been the first time he dreamed about Daphne being tortured or his friends being killed by one or more of the remaining Death Eaters. The exact content of the dreams changed, but the mood and intent was always the same. He feared that it would stay like this until they solved the Tom Riddle problem permanently.

Harry sighed, hugging Daphne against his chest again. _Why can't Amelia and the Aurors be successful in their search?_ At least the school year would be at an end in a few days and with the summer break he would be able to do something about the matter himself, at last. He hadn't spoken with Roxanne about his intent to participate in the hunt, but assumed that she already knew. Roxanne was a clever and insightful woman. To be realistic: she probably knew about his wish before him.

Roxanne patted his arm before she left the kids alone and wandered over to the rest of the group. They had met in Carmen's house for a quiet Sunday afternoon between the two OWL exam weeks. Half done, another half to go, Harry and his friends could use a few hours off, especially Daphne who was nearly as bad about studying as Hermione. Neville and Hermione would join them in an hour at most, with some of their friends. Roxanne loved the development of her daughters having friends among all four houses.

Padma Patil had been a friend of Daphne and Hermione for nearly two years now. Her sister Parvati had joined the club only this year, with their mother Shanta slowly becoming surprisingly close to Roxanne. Aside from her thankfulness for the help regarding her daughters, Shanta had accepted Roxanne's help in getting more integrated into the British Pureblood society, something that had been denied to her in the past because of her Indian background. Shanta had still that annoying "exotic blob" feeling at the tea parties but slowly the other ladies got used to her presence.

Another Ravenclaw would join them, too. Roxanne smiled as she thought about Luna and her equally colourful father Xenophilius. Both were certainly funny and entertaining guests at every party, with Luna showing a shocking insightfulness and emotional depth every now and then. Harry loved the little girl like a younger sister, as did his three friends. They were incredible protective of her and Roxanne pitied any boy who dared to date her – or any girl, as she wasn't too certain about Luna's … propensities. _I have to ask Hermione about Luna's current love life sometime_.

From Hufflepuff there would be Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones. Regretfully her Aunt Amelia had too much on her plate this afternoon to be there. She really had hoped to tease Amelia about her beau… err… her secretary. Roxanne smiled thinking about the rumours regarding the (not) couple. Susan had proved to be an honest and brave student, a real Hufflepuff like Neville and Niles Chentz, the other boy that had been invited to attend their little party. Unlike his aunt Caren, who continued to teach Physics and Astronomy at Hogwarts, he was less inclined to spending time studying sciences and more interested in his girlfriend Megan Jones at the moment. _They're a cute couple_. Roxanne hadn't forgotten how good a friend Niles had been to Neville after his resorting or that Megan had tried to help Daphne against Dolores Umbridge, even getting hurt in the process.

Last but not least a few Slytherins would be there. Draco had been in the house for the whole day, rarely leaving Astoria's side but apparently slowly opening to Sirius. He would be spending the next few weeks with his uncle as there was still no sign from his mother – and his aunt. He turned sixteen a week ago and would be forced to keep the name Malfoy for another year. Only after turning seventeen and receiving his inheritance, would he be able to change his name to Black – something he wanted to do before he married Astoria. Not that this marriage would happen within the next four years, as Astoria wanted to complete her education before becoming a house wife. Roxanne snickered at the thought of Astoria turning into "Molly Weasley two", spending her whole time with children and household. Draco is a good boy – now. He'll allow her dreams and hopes to come true.

Four other Slytherins would be there as well. Tracey Davis and Blaise Zabini were still working on patching up their relationship. He still had to tread very carefuly and Roxanne hoped to further their romance with allowing them some time together in this neutral location. Millicent Bulstrode had accepted the invitation as well as Pansy Parkinson. Both had their own problems with their families. Millie would go home to her mother – her father now residing in Azkaban – but the CCU, the Children Care Unit, would still keep an eye on her.

Pansy at least had apparently been able to convince her parents that the victory meant they had to leave behind their official neutral stance and their unofficial bigot prejudices in order to behave "lighter". Roxanne actually liked the girl with the pug nose and the acid tongue. She had shown temper, loyalty and wit this year, three things she hadn't expected from the little pureblood princess. This and her open declaration of having no romantic interest in Draco anymore had smoothed the ground towards the Pinegrew family at large. It had certainly helped too that Harry had been thankful for Pansy standing up for Luna, Ginny and Gabrielle Delacour more than once last year, something she shared with Millie.

The Delacours would be some of the few foreign guests today. Roxanne had invited Michel Ulven from the MET – overjoyed to meet "Harry and friends" in a private setting – as well as the Greek Healer Jannis. Both Daphne and Hermione loved him and especially Daphne had become a pen pal to the young man, exchanging letters about details in the healing treatments of house-elves.

"Thank you for your invitation, Harry," a deep voice rumbled, announcing another important guest: Lady Ironsides, Chief Accountant of Gringotts Britain. The elderly, gruff Goblin had obviously taken a liking to Harry as she had done to his mother before. There had been a constant exchange of ideas and plans regarding the Lily Evans Trust, the Werewolf Supporting System and other ideas in Harry's overall plan to change the magical world of Britain forever. _He and his friends will really put their stamp on our society_, Roxanne was certain. _And Lady Ironsides will make certain that they'll stay realistic and don't go overboard financially in their plans – and in Gringotts' good graces_.

_Too bad that Ana has to be in Toledo today_, Roxanne sighed. Her Cousin had returned to her day-to-day duties after Voldemort's defeat. While she still worked behind closed doors to track down Madam Guille, she couldn't stay in Britain any longer. At least Carmen Sanchez was still living in Hogsmeade, partially as liaison officer between the Spanish and the British DMLE, and partially for more romantic reasons. Sirius and Carmen were still a bit shy about their relationship but Roxanne hoped that this would change soon. The spirited Spanish Auror was obviously in love with the black-haired playboy and Sirius apparently slowly realized that it was time to settle down and that he could choose much worse than the Spanish beauty.

_Romance everywhere_, Roxanne sighed feeling a bit old with all those couples around. _Perhaps_…

.

_**Longbottom Manor**_

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_Langlock! _

Agatha used the spell wordlessly to get an advantage, but as expected Augusta successfully beat the spell with a fast swish of her wand. The elderly lady countered with a triplet of stunners staggering Agatha despite her strong shield.

"You're getting stronger every day, Augusta," Agatha noted while retaliating with two 'Daphne-distractors' before landing a grazing hit with a low powered cutting curse. Augusta growled, angry about falling to the distractions. Agatha smiled as she thought of her grand-daughter teaching her those spells. They belonged to a broad range of spells invented by Daphne to support her in duels. Knowing that she couldn't match many adult enemies in pure power – already Hermione surpassed her, Harry even more and Neville… Neville was a calibre of his own – she used low powered, mostly more funny than hurting and more often than not embarrassing spells – to distract enemies before landing an incredible aimed single hit to take them out.

However, her statement had been justified: since her return, Augusta was stronger than ever and gained strength with every passing week. In addition she now knew a number of spells Agatha had never seen her use before. It was after one of their training sessions, that Augusta had explained the change.

"_It's Argyle," she said, her eyes getting that faraway look as she thought about her late husband. "He was with me the whole time. He left a part of him in my heart, and some of his memories in my mind. I can remember now quite a few of the spells he had learned in his youth and his presence… I think it's strengthening me. I can't really explain it, Agatha. Perhaps it's simply the thought of someone watching over me. Whatever it is, it gives me strength."_

Augusta was still no match to Dumbledore regarding power or knowledge. Even Neville and Harry wouldn't be for a few more years – not on their own at least. In a decade at most it would be different. A decade would also be the time they would need to halfway compensate for all the knowledge and experience Albus had gathered in his long life – a decade of training with Daphne and Hermione. _Perhaps a tad less_, Agatha grinned, thinking about the spells the girls had used to defeat very strong Death Eaters in the recent past. Both were quite imaginative in their battle style.

However, Augusta didn't actually have to match him, at least not in raw power. She needed a broad range of spells, yes. For this matter she had started to train with Agatha as soon as she felt fit enough. There had been sessions with Remus, Sirius and especially Severus too and Brychan had arranged a number of duels with Aurors from all four countries: England, Denmark, Spain and France. The most extraordinary fight had been between Augusta and Spiritualist Nowles however. Nel, despite the Greek being foremost a healer, knew an incredible number of archaic and rare spells; the fact that they were cast in Greek, Arabic or even more foreign languages certainly helped to gain surprise.

_Power_, Agatha mused gravely. _I simply don't know how much power she'll need. It all depends on which 'Charges of Sorrow' she wants to claim and if any of them would be wrong_.

The 'Trial of Grievance' was a very old and equally rarely used tradition. Truthfully Agatha was quite certain that it hadn't been successfully used in her lifetime. _Hermione would know_; she smiled thinly. It was meant as a path to extract retribution if someone had been wronged by a magically stronger opponent. Both opponents had to accept the trial – something that usually stopped it from happening in the first place. This at least wasn't a problem as the Court at the first hearing had already declared that Augusta had the right to demand it. Denying this right now would only get Albus into Azkaban and destroy the paltry leftovers of his former glory.

Then there was the list of 'Sorrows'. The accuser had to explain which wrongs he and those under his care had endured by the hand of the accused. Everything that happened to Neville would fall under this verdict as well as what Albus had done to Frank and Alice, with Alice belonging to House Longbottom for nearly twenty years now. They had a good guess of what Albus had done to them but there were a few more points which would be less clear. Each rightful accusation would stand in favour of the accuser, while every wrong accusation would double in favour of the accused. The overall balance and rightfulness of the accusations would strengthen – or lessen – the power scale for the fight. With careful planning – and a little luck – Augusta would be able to compensate for Albus' staggering power scale. This left the question of spell knowledge and creativity.

"Let's continue, Augusta. We have another hour until we have to depart for Roxanne's little party."

Augusta nodded curtly and got ready.

_I'll get you, Albus. Enjoy your last weeks in this part of hell._

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_**Ministry of Magic – Office of Amelia Bones**_

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"The Ministry of Egypt is trying to help with our search, but their relations to the countries of Central Africa are still strained. I don't expect much progress on that front," Brychan Camwy sighed.

Amelia Bones simply nodded. She hadn't expected any better news. The Ministry of Egypt had only agreed to help because the French Minister pleaded them to, as the French Minister was kept in higher regards than his British counterpart in that part of the world. Madam Guille, Voldemort's vampiric ally, had however chosen well. Most central African states had a Ministry only by name; some of them not even that. What they shared was a deep-seated streak of independence and an equally ingrained suspicion towards the former colonial states.

_It's understandable_, Amelia sighed, _but it doesn't make it easier to search for Guille and the Horcrux_.

"We fared better with our hunt for Dolohov," Kingsley Shacklebolt took over. His promotion to Head Auror had been a surprise to most people outside of the DMLE, but not for the other Aurors, especially the senior ones close to the situation. There had been hints about Scrimgeour – his predecessor – supporting Voldemort, hints but no proof. It had been obvious that he was close to a number of Death Eaters and more than once openly admitted opinions about other races and Muggleborns that made Amelia's skin crawl. In the end it had been a conversation behind closed doors, between Scrimgeour, Amelia and Minister Fudge, that convinced the man to leave.

_Professional differences in opinions about how to lead the Auror corps_; had been the official explanation of his retirement. He was now often seen with other department heads, apparently looking for a job acceptable to his high expectations and set of skills. Amelia had been happy to get rid of him this way, especially without the spectacle of a high-profile investigation. The last months had been difficult enough. It had been months of _sweeping the house_. The 'blue book' – the notebook of Lucius Malfoy with notes about all briberies of the past fifteen years – had become the single most feared object at the Ministry. More than one Ministry official had voluntarily left his job, featuring personal or health reasons, rather than being submitted to a close scrutiny.

Now she had a trustworthy second – officially and unofficially – and Cornelius again proved having changed. She still had to have an eye on him because of his tendency to choose the easy way and procrastinate, especially with the unpopular decisions, but overall he was doing his job far better than anybody had hoped and expected – anybody other than Harry. Harry had been the one who wanted to give him a chance, at the beginning with a carrot and stick policy – luring with popularity and threatening with blackmail material – but more and more relying on Fudge's sense of survival and his newfound confidence as well as his excitement for being seen as the 'honest working politician actually caring for his population'.

"The Ministries of Bulgaria and Romania are still procrastinating in their cooperation, but we got some assistance through private channels." Amelia nodded. She knew what Kingsley was speaking about. Charlie Weasley, who had many contacts around Eastern Europe through his work at the Dragon Reserve, and Viktor Krum, famous Quidditch player and Casanova, had offered their help in gaining contacts under the radar of the respective Ministries. "We are now able to track a number of his thugs and even a few of his higher echelons, especially Avery who apparently is in charge of the security."

"Leave him alone for now," Amelia ordered. "We don't want to warn him prematurely."

"Understood," Kingsley nodded. "We're doing a bit of a ruckus right now in Poland, pretending that we're falling for his feint voyage there."

"Good," Amelia nodded slowly. "Be careful. We can't…" She sighed.

"We can't mess this up, I know," Kingsley continued surprisingly softly. He knew how difficult the past months had been for her; months that most people of Britain spent in party mode.

"Alright, enough of this," Amelia shooed them out. "Get back to work."

Everybody left apart from Brychan Camwy. The thirty something man watched Amelia with concern in his eyes. On days like these she looked her real age. She could really use a month or three of holidays. Amelia responded his look with a fake smile but he shook his head.

"Don't do that," he admonished her. "You don't have to pretend, not around me."

"Okay," she simply nodded with a low sigh and dropped her fake smile.

"Are we still appointed?" He asked, fearing that she would change her mind.

Amelia looked him in the eye, pondering the question far longer than he wished her to do. "Don't," he told her again. "Don't hide behind your age again."

It had been a point of heated discussion more than once these weeks. Amelia was more than a decade his senior, a thing uncommon but not unheard of in the magical society. Certainly it was nothing that disturbed Brychan. He always thought a sharp mind and tongue to be far sexier than anything else. Amelia certainly had both in quantity.

"They'll whisper about us."

"Let them whisper," he growled back. "They whispered from the start. What changes now?"

"They would be right about the rumours."

Brychan smiled mischievously. "It's only envy."

"Oh yes," Amelia could refrain from rolling her eyes. "I can already hear them, snickering about the elderly lady and her young Latin lover."

Brychan grinned. Despite his Wales heritage, many society women still only saw his long stay in Italia when speaking about him. The rumours about his conquests while working there – most but not all false or exaggerated – had never been silenced for long. "They'll adore me for taming the sexy Tigress." _Cougar_, that's what Americans called a woman like her. He always liked the pronoun.

"Taming," Amelia raised a single eyebrow, her mood better now. "Careful, this Tigress has claws."

"I never assumed otherwise," Brychan grinned before blowing a kiss on her knuckles.

.

Kingsley softly closed the door of Brychan's office behind him. The black, bald man had waited for him outside of Amelia's office and followed him without a word. Brychan felt somewhat tense around him. Kingsley was a man he deeply respected and from the look of his face the Auror wasn't a happy man right now.

"You know I adore her, don't you?" Kingsley started surprisingly softly.

Brychan nodded. It was no secret that many of the Aurors had similar feelings towards Amelia, seeing her as a big sister, Aunt or respectable niece in case of the older ones. There had been an immense uproar last year when Voldemort attacked her home; even today Towers and Brinks, the pair of Aurors successfully defending her against overwhelming odds, got free drinks every now and then.

"Are the rumours true?"

Brychan didn't have to ask which rumours. Hadn't he spoken about them with Amelia only minutes ago? He only hadn't expected Kingsley to be of the gossip type. However, he deserved the truth. "Not really, not completely," he admitted with a sigh. For a moment he pinched his nose. "However, I'm working on that part." He smiled weakly and tried to look as honest as possible.

"Why?" Kingsley asked hoarsely.

"I like her, I really do," Brychan answered in kind. "She's tough, has a sharp mind and is a woman of upstanding morals. She's everything I always wanted to find in a woman. It doesn't hurt that she's sexy as hell, especially in her full fury mode."

Kingsley scowled at him. He didn't need to hear about the sexy side of his boss. "You really mean it? She isn't only a conquest, a notch in…"

"Don't finish that sentence, Kingsley," Bry stopped him cold. "We're friends, but simply don't."

"Good," Kingsley's sure face actually softened and turned into a smile.

"You… you agree?" Brychan wondered.

"She deserves happiness," Kingsley simply stated. "I think you could make her happy." He turned towards the door but stopped. "Don't mess this this up, Bry."

"I won't."

"I mean it," Kingsley repeated with a deep growl right from his chest. "Don't mess this up. If you hurt her, I'll hurt you. And after I'm through with you, Tonks would bury the remains."

"I won't," Bry simply repeated. Apparently Kingsley believed him and left again. Only then did Bry allowed himself to smile. _Should I have told him that I got a similar 'Talk' already from none other than Susan Bones? Nah_, he shook his head_. It won't do any good to his self-confidence to hear that his little threats had nothing on Susan's glare and growl. Merlin, is the girl frightening. It supposedly lies in the family_.

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_**Interlude – Somewhere far away**_

.

With a start she woke up, sitting bolt upright in her bed, sweat on her skin and her hair damp against her head and shoulders.

_I had this dream again_, she mused darkly_. It got more intensive with every week. Should I tell her?_

She shook her head, deciding against it. Once she had hinted at her dreams, but Narcissa had been… what had she been? Frightened? Concerned? In any case, she had dropped the matter and never again spoken about it. For days Narcissa had watched her, while attempting to appear unconcerned. When the dream returned, she hadn't mentioned it. The dreams were disturbing. Blood and pain were a constant in them.

She left her bed and wandered into the kitchen. Creating a hot milk with honey the Muggle way, something she found somehow relaxing, she drank it slowly, enjoying the taste and its calming effect. The night was warm, the sky clear with stars shining. No moon was visible, as this night was a New Moon. As she imagined a full moon, a disturbing picture of a terrifying Werewolf got into the mix. She shook her head. She knew that Werewolf somehow, but how?

"Everything alright?"

She turned around to see her sister watching over her. She wore a thin dressing gown over her nightie but her feet were bare. Her sister enjoyed the feeling of wood under her feet, she knew. It was warm enough here to do this, far warmer than back at… she frowned. Warmer than where?

"Everything alright?" Narcissa repeated.

She nodded and tried a smile. Luckily it was dark enough to have her smile be convincible. "I'm fine. Only somehow had the munchies for hot milk and honey. Do you want some?"

"That would be lovely."

And so they spent the night, with hot milk, honey and thoughts about weird dreams.

.

_**Dumbledore Manor**_

.

Thousands of miles away, another human was also awake and unable to get a good night's sleep. The reasons, however, were far different. Albus Dumbledore had at last been successful in 'freeing' his bed-chamber from disturbances – mostly from appearances of his ancestor Roderick Dumbledore. The man had calmed down some over the last two months but was still complaining from time to time. He now often spent the day discussing Albus' life, deeds and misdeeds with other paintings. And he apparently found a new way to embarrass him: Roderick started to share stories with the guarding Aurors, about his childhood and sex life. Most of them were untrue but it didn't stop the Aurors from believing them; believing and retelling. Albus found more than one of those stories in the newspaper the next day.

_I never expected my family to betray me_, Albus grumbled.

However, hadn't his own brother betrayed him too? Aberforth still wasn't willing to accept his letters and had openly distanced himself from Albus in an interview. He only had a handful of supporters left. And now the day of Augusta Longbottom getting her stupid revenge was getting closer. He knew about her training – _with none less than that Pinegrew snake, I should have expected it_ – and her plans to invoke the Trial of Grievance. Like Agatha he knew the details, the benefits and dangers of choosing this path to extract revenge. Unfortunately all charges were true. Yes, he had his reasons to make those decisions, reasons that would pardon him in the face of history. Magic however didn't ask for reasons and explanations. He had wronged her and magic would take Augusta's side, there was no doubt.

_I have to write to Harry_, Albus decided. _He has to see reason. It's more important to stop Tom in a permanent way than performing this little bit of 'justice'._ He sighed deeply. _Harry has to understand that he has to die to bring Tom down without any chance of ever returning. He'll need me for that moment. A boy can't stand alone in the face of such a harsh decision. And someone has to be there to bring Tom down after he turns mortal once again. I just have to be at his side_.

Albus grabbed an empty piece of parchment and started to write a letter to Harry. _He has to stop this trial nonsense. There are more important things to consider than the revenge of an old hag._

_Dear Harry…_

.

_**Somewhere in the Far East**_

.

_I hate children._

_I hate Muggles._

_And most of all I hate Muggle children._

He seethed with helpless rage, rage that burned in his mind and soul. It would burn in his heart too if he had any. However, he didn't. Where flesh had been, there was only stone now. For weeks if not months he had been imprisoned like this, unable to lift a finger, unable to roll his eyes or glare at the little devils making fun of him.

Two tiny girls were standing in front of him, giggling, whispering, and pointing towards him. There was only a thin rope separating them from him. One of the girls looked around, probably looking for her parents. The adults were a dozen paces away, a group of those narrow eyes around a guide with a silly colourful Hawaiian shirt. Each of the adults wore a yellow tee with a name on them. He had seen more of those tourist groups over the last weeks than he ever thought possible to exist. Oh, how he hated them.

The little girl bowed and wriggled through under the rope. Looking left and right, the eyes wide and smile on her lips, her hand came nearer. The tip of her finger touched him. _Germs, I've got Muggle germs on me now_, he fumed. Oh, how would he love to be able to move, to rip her apart for her audacity.

The girl started as a woman called her. He grinned. Or at least he would have grinned if his stony lips allowed it. _You'll get your trashing now, little beast, disgusting creature_. However instead of spanking the girl, the woman scolded her, only to fetch a handkerchief from her handbag. She started to clean the girl's fingers, the message being clean: don't touch the dirty stone statue.

_Dirty, I give you dirty_, he wanted to scream.

In helpless agony he watched the mother and daughter walk away. A last time the girl turned around and waved him farewell.

_I hate children._

_I hate Muggles._

_And most of all I hate Muggle children._

.

_**Golden City**_

.

A surge of pure hate raced through his heart, awakening him from his slumber. Pictures were in his mind, pictures of faceless people watching him, mocking him and throwing insults in his face. How dared they? He would kill them for their impudence.

His eyes open now, he needed a few moments to remember where he was; to remember who he was. Antonin Dolohov, he tried to nod. I'm Antonin Dolohov, leader of the…

He flinched. Something was wrong. He tried again to nod, to move his head to the side. Hate was replaced by animalistic fear. He couldn't move his head_. Why can't I_…

He trembled. He tried to move his hands, his feet, anything. Nothing happened. Faceless heads appeared again, mocking him, cursing him. He wanted to cry, to yell. He was barely able to control his emotions, this mix of burning rage and terrifying fear. The emotions allowed him to cast a Reducto, wordless and wandless, draining but still strong. It shot straight through the faces and hit the ceiling of his bed-chamber. Outside a pair of feet started to run towards the door. Seconds later the door burst open and the Death Eater on duty raced into his room, wand drawn.

Only now, from one second to the other, he was able to move again. A thick layer of sweat was covering him, pure cold sweat. "Everything is alright," he explained, his voice so hoarse that he had to repeat it. Antonin needed a few minutes to convince the man that he was really alright and leave him again. Only then had he time to think about what happened to him. Never before had he experienced something like this.

_It was like being petrified_, he mused darkly. _But how? And why? Was it an attack? Some kind of message?_

He didn't understand the incident, not one bit. He only knew that he had to think about it.

_I have to find an explanation, and soon. Before it happens again_.


	2. Chapter 2 It's time for a duel

_**A/N**_

_A big part of this chapter will be a battle demonstration. Please remember: there is a spell summary of my newly invented spells on my profile page. Many of them will be used today._

**.**

**It's time for a duel**

.

_**St. Mungo's – Permanent Ward for Magical Maladies and Injuries**_

.

"It's time for your potion, Dolores."

The nurse's kind voice was unable to draw her patient out of her nearly catatonic state. Dolores Umbridge was again sitting in her favourite corner, rocking back and forth, and keeping that old newspaper close to her chest. The last time the nurse tried to get rid of the month old newspaper, they had needed four nurses and two calming draughts to get the raging woman under control again.

"Bellatrix," Dolores' head bobbed several times. It was the same newspaper that had caused the mad woman to create her little personal hideout in that tiny broom closet. She still had a tiny cushion and an old blanket in there to hide from time to time if something frightened her. Since her admission to the ward more than six months ago there had been no improvement. In the beginning, a few of her former friends tried speaking with her, to no avail. They stopped doing that after several weeks and sent mind healers instead. None of them was able to do more than change one potion for another, most of them only putting her to sleep or slightly alleviating the constant fear attacks.

For the last two weeks there had been a change about her, but not a positive one. While until then she mostly behaved like a frightened hare – an obese and certainly not in any sense cute hare – she now showed bouts of aggression, even attacking other patients and nurses. Healer Prewitt was already thinking about various options to restrain her: putting her into a padded room, putting some restraining spell on her or dosing her with tranquilizing potions. She only wanted to wait a bit more hoping that this phase would soon end.

"Be a good girl, Dolores, and take your potion."

Dolores only shook her head and stared to the ground. Her nurse sighed. _Sometimes I hate my work_.

.

_**Hogwarts – near the Great Hall**_

.

"This is your fault," Hermione growled, her finger pointing right at Balou's cute nose. The tomcat's reaction wasn't as hoped but certainly as expected from anybody knowing him. He licked her finger, his rasping tongue tingling on her skin. Neville had to bite his lip with nearly enough force to draw blood. Suppressing a giggle was an important matter right now if he wanted to get any couch action tonight and not a cold place in the corridor.

"Because of you, Daphne got two points more than me in the theory part of the DADA exam," Hermione tried to stay furious and frightening. It was difficult to be impressive when Crookshanks' reaction was only a yawn and her friends were obviously amused. Balou bobbed his head against hers and, before Hermione had time to recover, his tongue actually licked the tip of her nose.

She sighed deeply, only relaxing a little as Neville started to rub her back in circles. It had really annoyed her to get beaten by Daphne in the theoretical part. It didn't ease her mind that she was still second – with a wide gap to Padma, Susan and Draco on places three to five – or that only Harry had been above her in the practical. In a way Neville and Harry felt happy that Hermione and Daphne were still competitive despite their close friendship. It made the lessons less boring to watch the girl trying to outdo each other. With Daphne being a class on her own in Charms and Hermione leaving even Draco far behind in Potions, DADA and Transfiguration held the girls on par. Both had taken the fact that Harry made a serious jump again in Ancient Runes and was now unbeaten master of that subject quite well.

"What do you think Moody wants from us?" Daphne asked, successfully trying to change the subject. She linked arms with Hermione and dragged her towards the Great Hall. Alastor Moody, paranoid ex-Auror and DADA teacher of the hour announced the preliminary results of the DADA exam this morning and invited the whole class to the Great Hall for some special event.

"Perhaps some demonstration," Hermione shrugged.

"I've seen Tonks and Kingsley," Neville interjected. "Perhaps they'll make a sparring duel."

"Would be nice," Daphne agreed. She especially liked the young bubble-gum haired Auror and Kingsley had proven his high level of experience at the big battle. She still assumed that her aunt Ana and Amelia Bones' 'secretary' were better than him but he certainly belonged to the top five among the Aurors.

"We'll know in a few minutes," Harry responded, his mischievous smile telling Daphne that her boyfriend knew more than he admitted.

.

"Your lessons so far had one serious flaw. Before I leave Hogwarts, I wanted to remedy this," Alastor addressed the audience with his gruff voice. To his left and right were not only Kingsley Shacklebolt and Dora Tonks waiting attentively, but also two more Aurors already known to the quartet: Brinks and Towers.

"What is he talking about?" Neville wondered.

"No idea," Hermione shrugged. Daphne watched the Aurors closely. She had an idea where this was leading.

"Miss Bones, do you have any idea on the nature of this flaw?"

"So far we only duelled in pairs," she responded immediately and confidently. She gestured towards the waiting Aurors: "I assume you want us to watch a fight pair against pair, as Auror Towers and Brinks are often paired as bodyguards to my aunt." This was news to most of the students and spoke clearly about the level of competency of the so far unknown Aurors. Someone like Amelia Bones, head of DMLE, wouldn't trust her life to a couple of Dunderheads.

"Almost correct, Miss Bones," Alastor's grimace certainly was his version of a smile. It sent shudders down the backs of most students. The Great Hall had been reorganized. The tables had been moved to the edges and the chairs arranged in a wide 'U' with Alastor standing at the open top. All students third year and up were present as well as the whole staff.

"Four of your teachers will team-battle these four Aurors."

Many eyes widened. This could be good.

"The Professors McGonagall, Snape and Pinegrew as well as Headmaster Flitwick agreed to this little educational demonstration. Please watch out especially for how they cooperate and react to surprises." He exchanged nods with Kingsley and Filius before calmly stating: "take your places."

.

Harry flinched at the noise of Roxanne's arm breaking, while Daphne openly glared at the Auror that dared to hurt her mother. The fight had been fast, furious and confusing. Most students soon realized that the teachers were better at duelling one on one. Headmaster Flitwick was especially impressive, bouncing back and forth like a rubber ball while sending a flurry of spells against his opponent, forcing Kingsley to defend himself the whole time. Minerva had a broader range of spells than any other fighter while Roxanne showed how many training sessions she had spent with her daughter. Severus seemed to be the most deadly of the four and ready to use some of the more vicious spells.

However, the quartet of Aurors was still more than able to hold their ground. They were far better at teamwork and had a better feeling when it was time to support a team member or use an opening on another one's target. Only a few seconds ago, Towers had been able to force Roxanne into an awkward defensive position and Brinks had instantly used the chance to get through with a bone-breaker. Before she had a chance to recover, Towers hit her with a cutting curse and disarmed her before Brinks knocked her out with a stunning spell.

Daphne's deep growl was audible all around and Harry tried his best to stop her from instantly jumping into the fight. "Relax!" Harry whispered and took her hand. However, she only calmed down as Severus and Filius dodged the next attacks and put Brinks and Towers down with a flurry of spells before the Aurors had time to recover from their little victory dance.

"Yes," Astoria hissed and air-punched, Draco rolling eyes at her side and exchanging a look of understanding with Harry.

Realizing that they had to win fast, Kingsley switched from Filius onto Minerva and supported his last standing team member. However, he wasn't able to knock her out before Minerva got Tonks with a transfiguration spell, turning her into a cute little kitten. Expecting an attack from Severus, Kingsley ducked and cast the counter-spell on Tonks, only to helplessly watch her turn back into a human, rising straight into a pair of bludgers from both Severus and Filius. The pair needed only a few more moments to ascertain their win.

The cheering was enthusiastic all around, especially after the sight of Headmaster Flitwick doing the air-jump and high-fiving a sour-looking Severus Snape.

_An interesting demonstration, indeed._

.

"Don't run off too far, Auror Brinks" Daphne's deep and furious growl stopped the Aurors and the cheering all around. "Let me swiftly mend my mother's injuries before I trash your arse." A few students gasped but most were grinning broadly. Especially the Slytherin girls had certainly expected such a reaction and eagerly awaited Daphne's actions.

Without waiting for a response she hurried to her mother's side, shooed Madam Pomfrey away and used some examination spells on her, starting with the Perspicientia Corporis. Poppy only smiled leniently and left to care for Minerva, knowing that Roxanne was in good care. Instead she supported the other healers with treating the Aurors and Minerva.

"I can't allow a duel, Miss Pinegrew," Alastor Moody announced gruffly. Daphne's response was only an angry hiss. "Today is about teamwork, not silly pomp and circumstance," he added with a faint smirk.

"Then we four have to trash all four of your Aurors, don't we?" Daphne growled, before turning back to her mother.

Hermione, after a glance into Harry's smirking visage, put her head on Neville's shoulder and whisper-groaned. "He planned this from the start, didn't he?"

Neville shrugged and whispered back: "presumably."

"Are you in?" Harry asked with a broad grin. Hermione glared back, but Neville nodded: "let's do it."

.

"No mind link, no Scutum or Dolor," Harry announced to his friends with a low voice. "It would be unfair and betray too many of our abilities." His three friends nodded, Daphne glancing around impatiently. The students were eagerly awaiting the fight and from the look of it the twins were doing their round to hastily organize a betting pool. Harry's order would seriously constrain them in their fight as would Alastor's rule not to use Runes or Wards. However, she had no doubt about the result of the fight.

"And Daphne: he only did his job. Keep calm."

Daphne pouted at her boyfriend in a cute way: "Only a little excessive force?"

Harry shook his head: "you'll get a massage tonight in recompense."

"With that massage oil I got from Padma?" She asked hopefully. Hermione watched the cute exchange in open wonder while Neville was again biting his lip. Harry nodded to Daphne's last demand and she relaxed. "But he's still mine," she demanded.

"Alright, Brinks belongs to you," Harry responded, his voice raised this time, prompting snickers from the audience and a pale-faced Auror.

.

_**Interlude – Deep in the woods**_

.

"I win!"

With a haughty expression Fenrir Greyback stepped away, allowing his packmates to dispose of the loser's cadaver. He retracted his claws and accepted the cheering from the Werewolf assembly. Since he started to gather new forces, he had been forced to kill a competitor twice. However, overall he had been successful in his task to regain strength. With the new Werewolves he had again more than twenty footsoldiers, less than Treskow but on the other side most of Treskow's pack weren't really fighters.

It could have been more, but convincing foreign Werewolves to join his pack had been difficult. Most of the new ones came from Scandinavia. The German, Polish and Czech packs felt no urge to fight against the well-known Alpha. It was an open secret that Baron Pascal Deveraux, leader of the Vampires of Southern France, had a far-reaching influence among the French Werewolves thanks to his brother. And the Spanish Werewolves simply had no reason to fight due to the far better living conditions in their home country.

Still, he was content and Dolohov would be, too.

.

"She's still looking for an opportunity to get you," one of his scouts whispered.

Fenrir answered with a self-confident smile. Alecto Carrow had lost everything. Her brother killed by Sirius Black, her manor razed and her vault confiscated by a publicity-seeking Minister; most pureblood friends betrayed her after rumours got out about her being a Werewolf. He duped her into a humiliating affair, doing his best to break her pride. Using every possible way to abuse her, heaping humiliation on humiliation, in the end she realized that the promise to rescue her from the Werewolf gift had been a lie. No wonder she was beyond furious.

Gift – he saw it like that. It was a gift he gladly bestowed on others.

_One day she'll accept it too._

.

_**Hogwarts – Great Hall continued**_

.

"Hoooogwarts!"

The four friends jumped in the air, waving their wands and under the cheering calls of most students. Harry and his friends were really working on lifting Daphne's mood. The first step had been to transform their robes. Neville now looked again like a Gryffindor, while Hermione took his place in Hufflepuff. Daphne, not unexpected and under the broad smiles of her Ravenclaw friends, became an Eagle and Harry at last accepted that the sorting hat had long pondered about putting him into the Snakes' den. This was about Hogwarts against the DMLE and they intended to win and do it with style. Hermione glanced around. With each of them representing all four-house traits, they were actually a bit interchangeable and it would be difficult to tie them down to one house only.

After a gesture from Harry to Luna, the tiny Ravenclaw and her friend Padma started to weave some spells, ending in four animal heads erupting from thin air above the four friends as they roared their battle cry. Reminding everybody of Luna's famous lion head hat, an eagle was shrieking, a lion roaring, a snake hissing and a badger… badgering. Daphne actually smiled again and Harry had hope that she wouldn't hurt Brinks… too much.

Unlike the first 'duel' this one started at a far greater range. The four friends had taken a stance at the far end of the hall and it became clear very soon that they intended to make good use of the space. After some weird stance dance and wild gestures on Neville's part, a broad wave of rock and earth suddenly erupted in front of him and rolled towards the Aurors like a wave. Students and staff gasped at the opening move. They knew that 'near-squib' Neville had turned into a frightening powerhouse, but to see him conjuring a hundred cubic feet of packed earth was a quite different experience than simple hearsay. It was the Aurors' luck now that they were standing three-dozen paces away from their opponents, as the distance allowed them to recover from their shock and erect a combined wall of force to stop it. It was a convincing show of teamwork and their ability to blend their magic into one mighty spell.

The shield actually stopped the wave and the mass of earth and stone covered the floor in front of the Aurors. It didn't stop there however. While Neville recovered from his spell – a layered shield protecting him from any stray shots – Hermione used an Aguamenti spell and some impressive Transformation to change the earth into a field of slick and quick sand. As the four Aurors tried to find a way forward, using smaller transformation and banish spells, they found themselves under heavy magical assault. Harry used two of his favourite spells – learnt from Hermione and Daphne for use at the tournament – to smother the Aurors with a hail of rocks. _Banish and Accio are your friends_, he mused with a grin, watching how Tonks pushed Kingsley out of the path of a twenty-pound rock. The bubble-gum-haired Auror instantly regretted the distraction as a duo of weak Lanceas hit her into both calves.

Headmaster Flitwick showed his appreciation far more openly than Alastor Moody at the display. The targeting was incredible and with more force – like Daphne would have used in a real fight – Tonks would have been crippled and unable to follow her team anymore.

However, slowly the Auror team got its rhythm and started to steadily advance. Kingsley transformed a secure path in front of them. Tonks knocked any rocks aside that threatened them while Towers protected the team against Daphne's spells, which were right on target but not strong enough to break through his shields. Brinks assisted whoever needed help, while keeping a constant an eye on Daphne's wand. It didn't help him in the end. Just as they reached the 25-yard-line – a distance at which Harry felt more secure with his spell targeting – he suddenly switched from rock-throwing to more traditional spells. He used powerful, wide-spread Reducto to stop and shock the Auror team before following up with a cleaver that cut through Towers shield like it was thin paper. A split-second later a spell hit Brinks' wand arm. At the last moment Daphne had switched from a bone-breaker to a cloth-colouring spell. She wanted to make a point, not actually hurt him. Harry's proud smile and her mother's tiny nod proved her right.

_This was still a demonstration among friends, not a battle against Death Eaters. _

Now, with both teams closer to each other, the pace changed again. All eight fighter started to exchange more of the spells traditionally cast in fights, mostly stunners, weak cutting curses and Reductos as well as a number of – mostly unsuccessful – Expelliarmus. Both sides showed a talent for defending helpless teammates, allowing them to recover from a hit or regain their wand. The four Aurors had expected this to be easier. They knew the talents of their opponents, and the tactics they preferred. Now they needed a while to realize that Harry and his friends had simply started to exchange their spell repertoire among themselves.

The first real hint was a Pugnus Saxeus – a stone fist spell – Hermione used against Kingsley, knocking him out for a moment until Tonks was able to revive him. Neville used a broad range of distractor spells to unnerve Towers and Brinks while Harry's use of a mirror-ricochet combination proved that he had actually listened to at least a few of Astoria's explanations about optic. _Angle of reflection is the same as angle of entry_, he mused, watching Tonks jump back and forth between the spells he sent her way. _I've still got to work on my targeting_.

The only one keeping mostly to her usual "three distractor spells followed by a well-aimed Lancea" tactic was Daphne. She had neither Hermione's talent at copying Neville's earth magic nor the raw power to use spells like Harry. Her boyfriend had actually been able to teach her some fire magic but she felt uneasy using them. She now mostly concentrated on helping her teammates; sent reenergising waves towards them or banished a dropped wand back into Neville's hand.

Suddenly Tonks, as she dodged another one of Harry's ricochet spells, tripped and was unable to stop her fall. Moody looked concerned for a moment because Hermione's stone fist – originally aimed at Tonks hip – was now flying right towards her head. This could easily end in a cracked skull or at least a severe concussion. At the last moment a weak Reducto pushed her aside while a cute pink Lancea hit the stone fist and turned it into a cloud of sand showering the surprised Auror. For a moment all fighting stopped and everybody stared at a shrugging Harry and slightly blushing Daphne. The four friends knew that it had been Daphne's healer mind and Harry viewing Tonks as family that had kicked in and urged them to protect her from serious damage. Hermione glared around, daring anyone to say something, her eyes resting a tad longer on Alastor Moody. In the end it was Neville who stopped the awkward situation. "Let's continue, shall we?" He deadpanned.

A second later spells were once again flying all over the hall.

.

"We have to end this," Daphne whispered to her friends. Harry nodded. Without the full use of their abilities – especially Neville recharging them – it slowly showed that their opponents were not only powerful and skilled but also fully grown up. They simply had a bigger staying power and slowly adjusted to the unusual tactics of the teenagers.

"I like hell hounds," Hermione suddenly announced, apparently without any correlation to the fight around.

Neville nodded. "We'll need a bit of real material for that. And a distraction."

"Avis! Oppugno!"

"Grex Corvorum!"

A massive flock of canaries appeared in front of Hermione only to be sent towards the Aurors. They were swiftly followed by a bunch of ravens, far less in number but apparently more intelligent in their attacks and really difficult to banish. While the Aurors tried to get rid of the annoyance, Harry accioed more than a dozen tables from all around, pushing aside quite a number of students on their way. One by one they were transformed by Hermione into something looking more like a little wooden horse than a hound.

"That's your best imitation of a dog?" Daphne snickered. She ignored Hermione's death glare and animated them, allowing Neville to shield them with a layer of earth and stone before she sent them against the Aurors. While Kingsley and his team were able to dispose of the first few – with far more difficulties than expected as the rocks hardened them against banishing spells and Reductos while Daphne's charm was awfully resilient against even Finite Incantatem – Hermione was faster in creating them than the Aurors in destroying them. After a while Harry started to give them a nice extra touch: fire.

"Now they're real hell hounds," he snickered as Kingsley yelped because a fiery breath set the trim of his robes aflame.

"Aguamenti!" A pillar of water hit Kingsley and extinguished the flames, coincidentally giving him the appearance of a drowned rat. Daphne shrugged and said with mock regret: "I only wanted to help."

"Glaciate!" Hermione concentrated on the variant of the more traditional Glacius spell to turn the whole water covering the head Auror into a solid block of ice, leaving only a small hole for breathing.

While Harry occupied Towers and Brinks with a flurry of spells, Tonks tried to free her boss, only to find her wand hand entombed in a cubic feet of solid rock. More than two hundred pound dragged her to the ground and made it impossible to stand up again.

Having done their part, Hermione and Neville pulled back, wearily watching the end of the fight. Harry targeted Towers while yell-whispering to Daphne: "no humiliation." He knew that Marauder-like look in her eyes, having seen it often enough in the past with both Sirius and Remus around. She pouted but nodded. It was over quite fast in the end. Harry used a powerful Lancea to pierce Towers' shield and graze his hip, following up with a medium-powered Reducto to his left foot and using the moment of unbalance to disarm and stun him.

Daphne wasn't able to completely play fair. Using a mirror-ricochet combination like Harry moments before – her spells right on target every time – she smothered Brinks with a dozen weak stinging hexes from all directions while putting her graceful body to good use dodging his spells, giving Harry quite a good show of her curves at the same time. Astoria snickered as she realized her sister's attempt at propitiating her boyfriend. From the look of his dreamy eyes it obviously worked. After a while Brinks lost his nerves and ignored the painful but not very effective spells and increased his offense.

_Bad decision_, Neville had just enough time to muse before Daphne used the opening in Brinks' defence.

"Levicorpus!"

Suddenly Brinks found himself in the air upside down. Two spells later, Brinks had no wand anymore and a gag silenced him. The starting cheers drowned Harry's "Daphne!" who realized that she wouldn't stop there. Proving that she didn't only know Charms but also a bit about Transfiguration and Fire magic, she turned one of the remaining Hell Hounds into a nice bonfire just below the Auror.

"Daphne!" Harry scolded "no massage tonight."

"But it isn't even hot," Daphne pouted. Actually Brinks, after a first moment of panic, had relaxed again as he noticed the lack of heat from the fire.

"Alright," Harry sighed "massage tonight" Daphne beamed "but without Padma's oil. "Deal," Daphne was still happy. Now she had only to convince her mother not to give her detention on her last school week. From the look of it that was quite the possibility.

.

_**Hogwarts – a wee bit later**_

.

Astoria nudged her fiancé with her elbow, gesturing towards a slightly deflated looking girl. Draco rolled his eyes; he had no time for this sappiness. Astoria's glare however convinced him otherwise. Ignoring that girl's feelings now would mean less snogging for him later. _I'm really whipped_, he sighed silently. Nonetheless he turned around and walked towards the girl that had been like this since his mother's departure.

"Hey Frobisher!"

The girl stopped and looked at him, her face a mix of suspicion and hope. An elbow nudged him again, and Draco sighed: "I mean: Vicky." He glanced towards Astoria and glared, something she only reciprocated with an innocent smile. "How are you?"

"Awesome," she deadpanned, completely failing to convince anybody.

Draco gently grabbed her arm and pulled her aside. As her friends moved to protest, Astoria stopped them with a narrowing of her eyes and a shake of her head. "She's alright, Vicky," Draco whispered.

Her mood instantly brightened. For a moment doubts flashed up in her eyes: "Really? But where…"

"I can't tell you, Vicky," Draco stopped her. "Really, I can't. Nobody can know. But she's healthy and safe." Actually he didn't know where exactly his mother was hiding. It was something only his godfather knew the details of.

"But why did she leave me?" She pouted with teary eyes.

Draco carefully suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. It would have been a stupid move right under his girlfriend's eyes. "She had her reasons, family reasons. They had nothing to do with you."

Vicky Frobisher nodded slowly, apparently trying – no: wanting – to believe him.

"You know she liked your date, don't you?" Draco was surprised by the gentleness of his own voice. Per se, he didn't care about the girl. But everybody knew that she had a huge crush on his mother and Narcissa had told him about her date with the girl – the date that stemmed from that little DADA physical competition months ago. Narcissa had been angry and sad about the date's end, as it had been aborted because of the Death Eater attack on Valentine's Day.

"She wanted to invite you to a second one."

"Really?" She asked hopefully, her tears now in full flow.

"Really." Draco stunned Astoria as he actually hugged the crying girl and tried to comfort her. "I miss her too, Vicky, I miss her too."

.

_**Interlude – Mexico – Chichén Itzá**_

.

The morning sun was unpleasant on her bare skin but at least it didn't cause her to smoulder or even erupt into flames. For a moment her hand went to the place above her chest where the enchanted crystal was resting, allowing her to enjoy the sun or at least enjoy the sight of a sunrise despite the unpleasantness of her light. The crystal would protect her for another four-five years. After that she would have to spend at least one year to prepare the next. The secret knowledge of creating such a stone had been her payment from an Egyptian Mage for killing a competitor. She usually stayed clear of them and their unique powers but the bounty dangling in front of her had been too taunting. Those few Vampires that knew about her ability to spend some time under daylight – while she had been careful about that, it couldn't be kept completely hidden over the years – assumed that it was one of those short-time Thaumaturgy Rituals known among the more studious Vampires. Naturally she never corrected the error.

She liked it around Chichén Itzá despite the clear sunny days. It was a place of history, giving her the feeling of watching life in a time long gone by. The inhabitants had a calmness and serenity all over them that left an impression on her too. The place was good for her soul, this was obvious.

_You've chosen well, Pascal_, Hafsa mused.

This brought her back to the matter at hand, the one that had drawn her to the open. She knew about Baron Pascal's ongoing search for Madam Guille and her African hideout. One of her contacts at the court of Mexico City told her about the negotiations, about Pascal's plea to support him as the relations between Mexico and Central Africa were far closer and more relaxed than those between France and the countries around Madam Guille's supposed hideout.

_Should I help him?_

Hafsa was realistic enough to realize that at least one of Pascal's motives to help her had been the wish to get her back on his side instead of simply staying neutral. However, the young Vampire Lord had a well-earned reputation of being a humanist and an old-school gentleman. Partially he certainly had helped simply because he liked her. And admittedly: she liked him too, him and the small group of friends he had gathered around him.

Hafsa sighed. She didn't fear Madam Guille, at least not overly much. Her hesitation was more a thing of principle. She rolled her eyes. It didn't help. Pascal wanted to cause a feeling of indebtedness in her heart and it worked.

_Alright, Pascal, alright,_ she growled_. I'll help you_.

After a last glance towards the rising sun, Hafsa turned around. She had a travel to prepare.

.

_**Hogwarts – Great Hall**_

.

The last part of the exam was now a thing of the past and students enjoyed their last days before departing for summer break. The four friends were sitting together, this time with the addition of Luna and Padma, as well as Niles Chentz, today without his girlfriend, and his aunt Caren. She wanted to talk with Petunia and Daphne about the changes regarding Petunia's magical core. Three weeks ago, Daphne and Harry had accompanied Petunia to Madam Guila to get her a new wand. With her core changing more than usual with a woman her age, she would need another one from time to time over the next few years. It had to be a wand not too strong to prevent her from overtaxing her small core but likewise suitable to strengthen the charms she most often used.

Daphne thought it a bit funny that the wand maker her family had visited for decades nearly shared the name with that vicious Vampire they now searched so direly. Madam Guila had been very helpful and supportive when they entered her shop with a slightly uneasy Petunia Evans at their side. Interestingly she had a bit of experience with 'low-powered' witches who needed a bit of a magical push. They had experimented with quite a number of cores and woods as well as intensively spoken about the right jewel and runes to strengthen her magic. Petunia was very content with the result and slowly became attuned to her own magic. She was now able to use a dozen different house-hold and beauty spells – a few of them especially adapted by Daphne to possess a longer casting duration while using a smaller amount of power – and even a few healing spells.

_Mum would love to see her now_, Harry mused as he watched them. While Petunia still liked Hogsmeade better than Hogwarts – the village being more 'normal' than the heavily magic-induced castle – she was quite relaxed around wizards and witches now. Yes, she was still a tad tense around purebloods and preferred to speak with Muggleborns, but it was a far cry from her earlier 'freak calls'.

_I wonder how dear Uncle Vernon is faring now._

.

Neville looked up from the MET and its article about the ongoing search for the last Death Eaters. There had been nothing new but the newspaper continued being supportive to Amelia and the Ministry. There had been an article too about the OWLs examination at Hogwarts, complete with a picture of the four friends after their victory over the four Aurors. Neville assumed that Colin had been the photographer. At least there had been nothing about Auror Brinks in it. After a dire talk with her mother and much grumbling, Daphne had apologized to the man. Brinks had listened to her with a neutral face but grinned afterwards. He had taken it with humour and even called it an honour to have been trashed by one of the four war-winners.

Neville leant towards Hermione and pressed a kiss on her temple. He would have snuggled against her but she shooed him away impatiently. Her fiancé pouted. "You love this article more than me."

"Naturally," Hermione deadpanned. "It's more interesting too." At least she briefly turned towards him and offered him a dazzling smile before she continued reading. Actually, Neville had completely expected this reaction. For the last weeks there had been an ongoing motion to get a few new laws enacted, protecting house-elves from abusing masters, allowing werewolves to find shelter and work, and protecting Giants from getting killed out of sheer fear. Most of them were the work of Amos Diggory, Percy Weasley and Dirk Creswell, but more than once Neville found a phrasing in the laws and statements that he had first heard from Daphne and Hermione. Practically more than half of the Werewolf protection laws were the result of a meeting between Diggory, Hermione and the Treskows.

_No wonder she's so interested in any news about the matter_, Neville smiled leniently.

He looked around and had to bit his lip to suppress a giggle. Neville knew it was an unhealthy habit but he couldn't stop it. He even got Daphne to teach him a special healing charm for his bitten lips. It was simply too funny a sight: the twins glaring at their sister from afar with Ginny none the wiser. It had started a few days ago. Using a break between his NEWT exams, Cedric Diggory – tournament champion, Hufflepuff's golden boy and Hogwarts' infamous lady slayer – visited the Gryffindor table. With unusual trepidation he started to speak with Ginny, ending with asking for her allowance to write to her over the summer.

Blinking like an owl – a very good impression of how Luna would have reacted, Neville had to admit – Ginny nearly allowed Cedric to depart again, looking quite deflated, before she stopped him and stuttered something like "yes, I would be honoured". Her teammates had expected something like this for months, with Cedric obviously admiring her and not only for her upright character and Quidditch skills. Harry and the twins however hadn't gone easy on him. Neville thought that Cedric stayed admirably calm and straight as the three boys made their 'big brother talk' about not leading their little sister on. He certainly took their threats seriously – who wouldn't? Now they had to wait and see what got out of this 'pen friendship'.

Yes, Cedric would leave Hogwarts in a few days. Neville knew that the head boy got more than enough job offers, from a place on a Quidditch team to several medium-ranked Ministry jobs. There had even been a conversation between Agatha Pinegrew and him about a possible Transfiguration Mastery under her wings. So far, he hadn't yet decided what to do.

Another student would leave Hogwarts too, but only to continue at a different school. Cormac McLaggen had only one year left but the past months hadn't been easy on him. His part in the 'we threaten the Patil sisters with rape' incident had been neither forgiven nor forgotten. His parents actually had to use all of their influence to avoid a public investigation. Headmaster Flitwick and more importantly Professor McGonagall had only allowed the matter to be dropped because the McLaggens offered to extract their son at the end of the school year.

_I wonder if he learned anything from this_, Neville mused. He didn't expect it to happen. _Some people need the truth to be beaten into their thick skulls_. Perhaps his grandma knew the name of Cormac's new school. _We should write them a little letter of warning_. A boy like him had to be carefully watched. And he shouldn't be allowed to get away with an 'it was only once' excuse next time. No girl deserved to experience what happened to the Patils. (1)

.

_**Interlude – Tandrow Castle**_

.

_My brother would think me mad, running around like this. _

Alecto Carrow abruptly stopped as the picture of her beloved brother invaded her mind. She hadn't been there when he died. She hadn't been able to say goodbye. There had been a disgusting picture in the newspaper after the attack on Hogsmeade, nothing more. At least they had the decency to bury him on the little but ancient graveyard near Carrow Manor. It was still standing despite that bumbling idiot of a Minister daring to raze her home. Twice she had visited the grave; both times she had to be careful to avoid attracting attention. The DMLE wasn't as stupid as it once was. They had put warning and surveillance wards on the graveyard, apparently expecting what she simply had to do: visit the grave.

Amycus had been her brother, the only family member she always felt close about. Should there ever be an opportunity to hurt or kill Sirius Black, she would use it in a blink of an eye. However, she had to hide for now, hide in this pathetic excuse of a castle, living of the charity of Melisandre Tandrow, her cousin, and spending her days running around like a caged animal.

Among the many things that had changed since her turning into a Werewolf was how she thought and felt about her cousin. Yes, she couldn't even be called a mediocre witch. She was nearly as poor as the Weasleys, greater parts of the castle direly needing renovation. Mel had no real station among purebloods and would never be invited to Malfoy's annual ball – not that there would be such a ball ever again after Lucy's death.

On the other hand she steadfastly supported her. Despite her – rightful – fear to be infected should Alecto ever escape her cage on 'those nights', she hadn't even hinted at her wish for her cousin to leave. Alecto actually trusted her, more than any of her former friends. Alecto thought herself to be a realist. She wouldn't survive this. Sooner or later one side or other would find and kill her, especially with her unwillingness to ever set foot in Azkaban again. Because of this she had secretly visited a lawyer and bequeathed the puny leftovers of her former wealth to Mel.

_A little thank you for your loyalty and family sense, _Alecto gravely pondered.

With this organized it was time to work on the other task she had left to accomplish: kill Fenrir Greyback.

_You'll pay for what you did_, Fenrir. _I'll make you pay – or die trying_.

.

_**Somewhere in Middle England**_

.

Fabian and Jessica Treskow, who had been discussing their next step for a while now, looked up as one of the older hunters entered the tent. With the hot months of summer rapidly approaching, they favoured tents to the barracks given to them by the Goblins. It made them more mobile and able to hide if needed. With Fenrir gathering strength – something that couldn't be hidden from them – it was a realistic and necessary precaution.

"Still nothing," the hunter stated sadly. "He was near Edinburgh five days ago but apparently nobody has seen Fenrir and his pack since. According to the traces he killed another Alpha and now has twenty to twenty-five Werewolves under his command.

"Damn it," Fabian cursed.

Jessica shrugged helplessly. "We can't stop this wave of immigrants. None of us has any connections worth mentioning to the Scandinavian clans. We have to be thankful that at least Denmark hasn't sent any fighters to join his cause."

Fabian nodded, obviously not happy about the development. "Harry told me about negotiations between Copenhagen and Stockholm. They are trying to get the Swedish DMLE to stop their Werewolves from leaving the country. We'll have to wait and see."

Jessica didn't really expect this move to be helpful as Werewolves detested to be caged like this. The move could very well backfire. It was more important than ever to find Fenrir and fast. "What about that Carrow bitch?" She asked. "She's still looking for him, is she not?"

"Yes," the hunter agreed. "However, she apparently has not had any more luck than us. And she isn't very talented at staying unobtrusive. I expect her to get caught by his men sooner or later. She's simply asking too many questions to the wrong people in the wrong places."

"Could have been expected," Jessica pouted. "She hasn't been a Werewolf for long and never belonged to a pack." She pondered about the witch for a while but shook her head in the end. "I thought about inviting her but I don't trust her enough."

"Stay clear of her. Watch her but don't be seen," Fabian agreed.

"As you wish."

.

_**Azkaban – Upper Levels**_

.

Keeping her face void any emotions, Ophelia Nott followed the gaoler through the dark, damp and oppressive corridors of the prison. A month ago her brother had been sentenced to a twenty-year stay at the prison. Thanks to her own statement at the court and with a little help from the Pinegrews, he had at least been transferred to the slightly more liveable upper levels. He was granted one hour in the open each day. He had more or less healthy if bland meals and was allowed three sets of clothes. Fresh water, a magical earth latrine and a more or less clean bed – it wasn't a hotel, not even like a Muggle prison, but still a far cry from the conditions Bella and the other escapees had to endure for years.

_And there aren't any Dementors_, she sighed contently. _He wouldn't have survived Dementors_.

The Wizengamot was still undecided about the fate of the hundred or so surviving Dementors. The nature of their whole being was still in question. Were they creatures, undead constructs or something completely different? Did they have a right to survive, subsequently leading to a right to feed? Until the Hogsmeade attack most wizards had simply ignored their existence. Now however more and more wished to extinct the whole race or at least exile them to some uninhabited island, considering that refusing them their feeding would be humane, and not an arbitrary death sentence.

Ophelia shared the opinion that they weren't real creatures, they didn't deserve to live. In case someone asked her to decide, she was in favour of simply offing them and be done with it.

"Please remember: no touching," the gaoler reminded her as he opened the door.

Ophelia actually knew him. He belonged to those jailors that – while not serving Voldemort – at least shared his worldview. With more and more new Aurors serving at Azkaban, they were slowly becoming a minority but they were still there.

"Ophelia," her brother greeted her, trying valiantly to offer her a smile.

"Theodore," Ophelia was more successful than he in showing a positive face and suppressing the shock she felt seeing him like this. He hadn't fully recovered from the injuries at the last battle. He still limped a bit and wore his left arm in a sling. "You're too thin," she declared after a look at his skin and bone body.

Theo nodded. "I've still got trouble adapting to the food. I suppose it will get better."

They spent the next minutes in simple banter. None of them really wanted to speak about the past, their errors or how to continue from here. Each time Ophelia started to speak about her plans for the future, she had the feeling that Theo withheld something. It made her uneasy but didn't want to pry at the same time.

_He'll tell me in his own time._

How could she know the direness this hesitation would cause her later?

.

_**St. Mungo's – Permanent Ward for Magical Maladies and Injuries**_

.

"Dolores?"

With a little sigh the nurse entered the barely lit room, balancing the little table with Dolores' potions in her left hand.

"Dolores? Are you here? It's time for your… argh."

The nurse had barely time for a little scream before she passed out. With a proud grin on her thin lips Dolores left her concealment right behind the door. With a little rattle the metal bucket she had used for a weapon hit the ground.

"Where is it, little dirty blood traitor," she mumbled while searching the unconscious nurse. She took away her wand, her key ring and a little purse with a few galleons. Before simply leaving her behind, Dolores spit in her face and kicked her in the ribs for good measure. "Disgusting little traitor you are." She looked at her wand, wondering if it would be save using it in here. Deciding against it, a malicious grin crossed her face. Instead she bent down again and put her knee on the nurse's neck, using her weight to choke her. After a moment the nurse woke up and fruitlessly tried to free herself. It was too late however, Dolores weight too much and drawing breath became difficult. After a while the struggling stopped and Dolores grinned: "sleep little blood traitor."

She wished she could kill a few more of these disgusting nurses and especially that Prewitt bitch. But for now her escape was more important. She had to get away from here, get back to her master and cause havoc in his name. _He will rise again_, Dolores Umbridge promised. _I'll be at his side again. All of you will fear me again_, she silently yelled as she left the ward unopposed under the nurse cloak and using her keys. _You will fear the name of_…

.

_**A/N**_

_(1) In my time as a student some male student got away with such an "it was only a one-time incident" excuse. He only succeeded with that bull because other girls who had experienced sexual harassment from his side, too, stayed silent. A year later he got expulsed at last after another case of harassment. Some people simply have to learn that actions have consequences. _

_There aren't many details about Rowling's Vampires. Because of that I'll stay with the traditional Vampire concept. _


	3. Chapter 3 Parting Friends

**Parting Friends**

.

_**Somewhere far away**_

.

_Bella!_

She came to a skittering stop. The fragile yet beautiful tea-cup slipped from her fingers and nearly shattered on the floor. Only her fast reflexes prevented this fate.

_Bella!_

She glanced around with haunted eyes. Who was calling her? She knew that voice but wherefrom?

_Why did you betray me, Bella?_

"I…" She started to shiver, her whole body trembling like a leaf.

_I trusted you, Bella, but you left me._

She gulped. Deep inside, she felt like a traitor. He had trusted her – whoever _He_ was. She should be at _His_ side, not here, gallivanting and fooling away her time.

_Come back to me, Bella._

"Yes, Master."

Master? Why did she call him master? It felt right somehow, but equally confusing.

_I'll be waiting for you, Bella. We'll be together again._

She nodded with a very happy and content smile on her lips. She would find him. She wouldn't disappoint him again.

"I'm coming, Master."

.

_**Hogwarts Express**_

.

"Are you really okay with my plans? I could change them…"

Harry was sitting at the window, his left arm around Daphne's waist, his thumb drawing circles on her hip and her head on his shoulder. His girlfriend was dozing right now and he had time to watch Hermione and Neville in their little conversation. It was the fourth time they had this conversation today alone and certainly not for the last. It was absolutely adorable to see his best friend so insecure for once. While Neville wanted to stay with his family for a while and use the break for some bonding time with his parents, while Hermione intended to follow her father's invitation and visit him in Darfur, in the South-West of Sudan.

"I really want to spend time with you, but I haven't seen my father since Christmas and…"

Hermione squeaked as Neville pulled her into his arms and stopped her rambling with a passionate kiss. _Often the best solution_, Harry smirked. Several times she tried to pull back and opened her mouth only to have it closed again by a kiss or – from the look of it – a tongue pushed between her lips. With a defeated moan she relaxed against his chest in the end and closed her eyes with a happy sigh.

"You're cute when you're rambling."

Harry agreed completely but said nothing. The punch Neville got from her looked painful.

"Perhaps you could bring me a present, like an Arabian girlfriend. I heard they're far more docile than the British ones." His grin was far too smug and un-Neville-ish to be believable. It was also very brave as Hermione's glare could have melt the perpetual Antarctic ice. Luckily he was saved by a visitor. The door of the compartment was opened and Draco entered with a whole bunch of Slytherins close behind. He showed his best Slytherin prince smirk, the one every Gryffindor felt the constant urge to slap away. _Show time_.

"Apparently your taste in choosing friends hasn't improved yet, Potter," he huffed haughtily. "You know, some families are better than others. I could help you in befriending the right people." It was a bit too much. Had Draco really been this stupid on their first train ride?

"People such as you?" Harry asked with a broad grin, in time remembering the script. He could feel Daphne move a bit and knew that she would be watching Draco like a lazy cat now, her eyes half opened.

"Naturally," he puffed his chest.

Harry rolled his eyes. He nodded towards Astoria: "please do your duty."

For the past months, it had been Astoria's task to slap Draco if he behaved like a prat, moments like this one, with him in the role of a the eleven-year-old. Today however she only shook her head.

"Sorry, Harry," she regretted "but he promised to accompany me to Foyles. We want to make good use of my new book bag and buy a few dozen books from the list about Muggle Sciences I got from your Aunt, Professors Chentz and Granger."

Harry sighed in an overrated manner, while Draco's smirk only broadened. Bribing was an allowed Slytherin tactic.

"A Muggle book shop, Drakey?" Hermione mocked, knowing how much he despised the nickname.

Naturally she knew Foyles quite well, had been there for many hours perusing the books. It was one of the biggest bookstores in Britain and well-known for their eccentric business practices like sorting the books after publishers instead of themes or authors. She had actually suggested the shop to Astoria after the girl got the book bag for her fourteenth birthday. Hermione remembered how shocked she had been when Draco begged her to teach him the necessary skills to prepare this present for his fiancée. It was one of the many things that had changed since their first meeting.

Draco pouted: "the things we endure for our girlfriends."

"I know what you mean," Neville sighed, earning him another poke from Hermione's elbow. He grunted: "see?"

"I could teach you a few charms for hiding the bruises, Longbottom," Draco happily offered.

"Do that,…" Hermione accepted in his stead and narrowed her eyes. "if he carries on like this, he'll need them."

"Enough silly talk," Millicent Bulstrode stopped the exchange. She pushed Draco on the seat beside Hermione and Astoria on his lap – expecting them to continue their endless talk about Muggle science books. Draco didn't make the whole distance without getting a kick against his shin from Ginny. She had been sitting in the corner of the magically enlarged compartment with her friend Luna and was now answering Draco's glare with a sweet, innocent and completely unbelievable smile. Millie on the other hand followed Luna's inviting gesture and took a seat between the two tiny girls, her faint blush earning her a frown from Greg Goyle and a mocking grin from Pansy. Being the last to enter, Pansy closed the door behind her and asked to everybody around: "where is my chocolate frog?"

.

"He'll be free in a few days," Millie whispered to Ginny and Luna, her voice defeated. "Next week he'll be home again."

Ginny looked flabbergasted, Luna surprisingly serious. "I thought only your mother would be there. Hadn't the CCU decided something like that? I remember something about the CCU watching over you until you're of age."

Millie sighed deeply. "He got an appeal. My father apparently never committed any serious crimes, at least none traceable to him. Because of this they can't keep him imprisoned any longer. He's under observation and barred from working at the Ministry but otherwise free to do as he wishes. My mother wasn't happy to hear this." She glanced around to make sure that nobody was listening. "He's abusing her badly."

Ginny cursed under hear breath and Luna deadpanned: "he should rot in hell." It actually brought a smile on Millie's face, soon followed by another blush.

"And what about you?" Ginny asked. "Do you have to stay with them?"

"No," Millie shook her head and pulled an official looking piece of paper from her pocket. She offered it to the girls to read.

"I don't understand," Ginny commented after a while.

"There are restrictions like she still can't use magic or apparate, but otherwise she's of age now," Luna explained.

"Yes," Millie took the paper back, folded it and put it into her pocket again. "I'm allowed to stay wherever I wish. Part of the deal about letting my father be free was his assurance to pay for the rest of my education at Hogwarts and support me if I want to live on my own. I don't have to go back there over summer."

"That leaves your mother," Luna suggested.

"That leaves my mother," Millie sadly agreed.

"What will you do now?"

"I'll return for now, spend a few days with my mother and pack my belongings. The day my father returns, I'll leave… no idea where. Perhaps I'll stay with Greg." It was obvious that she didn't really like the idea, not with Greg still trying to handle the fact that he liked her more than she did him in return.

"I would invite you," Ginny shrugged "but I don't know how this summer will be. My parents are still trying to work out what the future will be for the family. Percy will be there, too. He is eager to reconcile with the rest of the family."

"I understand," Millie nodded. She was a bit disappointed as she had hoped for an invitation. She liked the Weasley, especially Arthur and Ginny. And Charlie certainly was a piece of eye-candy, despite him being in a relationship.

"You could stay with me," Luna suddenly offered. "I'll have to ask Dad but I'm certain he'll be okay with this."

Millie blinked. Pansy smirked. Greg glared.

_I can do this. I can do this_. "I would like that. Thank you, Luna."

"It's a deal," Luna smiled dreamily.

_And I've got to talk with Mione and Daphne_, Ginny mused darkly.

.

_**Dumbledore Manor**_

.

With a slightly maniac grin, Albus Dumbledore read the letter a second time.

…_he got a special approval to take his apparition test, together with his little friends. He has an appointment tomorrow at 11 AM…_

Albus put the letter on his desk and tapped the desk plate with his fingers, deep in thoughts. It was no surprise that Amelia would allow him to take the test a year before the usual time. Potter and his friends had already proven that they were able to apparate safely. According to rumours Longbottom had even been able to apparate all four of them together, a stunning feat, Albus admitted – if it was true. Even for him it would be taxing to accomplish it. Taking the test and getting the apparition licence was only a formality. However, it offered him a unique opportunity, an opportunity to meet Harry 'completely by chance'.

_I have to use that chance_, Albus pondered. _I have to convince him that this trial by ordeal matter is nonsense_.

To his disappointment and humiliation Harry hadn't even responded to the letters he sent to him in the past. _I'm not worth his time anymore_, Albus fumed. _I'll show you_.

The conditions for his house arrest had been loosened, but only a bit. He was still under close observation and only allowed to leave with a couple of Aurors guarding him – partly to his protection as there were quite a few wrought-up witches out there hoping to get a chance at having a go at him.

_I should make an appointment with the court, something about the trial preparations_, he decided, feeling content with his brainwave. The court secretary wouldn't refuse as he was still 'The Albus Dumbledore'. _And if I happen to meet Harry on my way, who would think poorly of me for using the chance to express my gratitude for all he did for us happy citizens_?

_Yes_, Albus nodded. _That's a wonderful idea_.

He took a piece of parchment and an everlasting quill and started to write a letter.

_Dear Secretary…_

.

_**Ministry of Magic**_

.

"Bry? What the hell are you doing here?" Harry greeted the man as he noticed him on entering the apparition office, his friends close behind. Amelia's secretary had been waiting for them with the examiner and another man at his side, someone completely foreign to Harry. He looked Italian and was certainly beyond his sixties already. Harry threw Neville a quizzical look because the man seemed to only have eyes for his friend, a rare incident as most eyes usually first drew to his infamous scar on a first meeting. Neville shook his head: 'no idea'.

"I'm here for the official touch, DMLE seal of approval and all," Brychan Camwy grinned. "You know: that everything is alright to let you do the examination without being of age and all. Simply ignore me."

And so they did. Thompson, the slightly bored looking examiner, first put them through a small written test and a few oral questions before allowing them to do their first official apparition. He had explained that these rooms had the usual apparition wards lifted for such tests, something of a security leak in Harry's mind. Because of this they were able to apparate into the neighbouring office and back. They had gotten better since last fall when Ana started training them. All of them were able to execute the jump without any problems, with only Harry having slight balance problems after their landing but being the fastest jumper, while Daphne needed longer to get going but was the most graceful and had only a very low puffing noise accompanying her jump instead of the usual 'crack'.

All in all they didn't even need an hour to finish everything and soon had their very own licence papers in their hands. Only now did the third man in the room intervene.

"Mister Longbottom," he said with a surprisingly deep voice, a voice reminding Harry of an earth and stone avalanche or some tunnel collapse. "I heard that you're able to cross longer distances, and that you're already able to take other persons with you on your jumps. Is that correct?"

Neville glanced towards Bry and only after his curt nod, did he answer: "That's correct, yes. Two months ago I made a… a jump… crossing a distance of 200 miles, taking with me my three friends."

"Splendid," the man smiled and clasped Neville's left hand. "Please show me. The cliffs of Dover would do nicely, don't you think?"

Neville blinked a few times. The gesture was copied by the foreign man as he found Hermione's wand pointed towards his nose in a threatening manner.

"He's alright, Hermione," Brychan calmed her. "He's a bit eccentric but trustworthy."

Hermione glared at the man: "I'll watch you." She only put her wand down to seize Neville's other hand.

"You're water, how interesting," the foreigner only commented, a slightly silly grin on his face. "Let's go."

Neville sighed but complied. Closing his eyes he allowed his senses to widen. He felt the earth below, the ley lines connecting under the Ministry. He had already been at Dover so it was no problem to find the correct line and detect an Earth node near the cliffs. Relaxing even more, he encompassed the foreigner and Hermione with his magic, sending a wave of calming emotions towards her. She relaxed somewhat and he felt her smile through the connection. Then, from one second to the next, they were gone.

.

"Camwy didn't exaggerate," the foreigner approved right after they reached their destination. "Your earth jumping is surprisingly smooth for someone your age. I'm impressed."

"Thank you, Sir." Neville was still uncertain what to think of this man. Slightly confused he stared at the piece of rock the man shoved into his hands. It was fist-sized and looked like a piece of lava but was surprisingly heavy.

"Do you know what this is?"

He slowly shook his head. "I feel earth magic… and a slight pull towards the South. But I don't think I've ever seen something like this."

"Is it an earth node stone?" Hermione asked.

"Correct," the foreigner grinned happily.

"It's a stone from a strong earth node, Neville. It allows you to cross longer distances along lines of earthen. I think it enhances your abilities to feel nodes far away and allows you to reach the node it came from, irrespective of the distance. That's at least what I read in those books from Monsieur Delacour."

"That's mostly correct. The worth increases with the purity of the stone and the strength of the caster. This stone should around triple your senses and the node it came from is near Toledo. It's a present from one earth mage to another."

"Thank you very much," Neville gasped. "That's…"

"This is how I am," the man shrugged happily. "And now let's return."

.

"Harry, my boy…"

The four friends had only just said their farewell to Brychan and the foreigner and left the office of the examiner, before they were jumped by none else than Albus too-many-middle-names Dumbledore, two annoyed looking Aurors in tow. Albus had barely enough time for his unwelcome greeting before he found himself jumped by two very angry witches. Daphne's face was cold fury, telling even the Aurors clearly to stay back. Not that they had any real wish to intercept. Hermione on the other hand did her best Augusta Longbottom impression and actually growled like an angry lioness.

Harry's scowl at seeing his former headmaster turned into a happy grin watching his girls, before he addressed Neville with a slight pout: "why didn't you jump to my defence?"

"And get in the girls' way? No chance in hell," Neville grinned, his eyes never leaving his girlfriend's back.

Harry smirked in return: "you only want to enjoy the show from back here."

Neville shrugged, not even flushing a tiny bit: "can't help it that our girls are sexy as hell when enraged."

Harry glanced towards his own girlfriend who was sending him lascivious smile. "I know what you mean." Getting serious however, he sighed and addressed Dumbledore: "what do you want?" Not even Hermione scolded him anymore for not addressing Dumbledore as 'Professor'. _How the mighty have fallen_.

"I wanted to speak with you, Harry," Dumbledore responded, looking slightly uneasy with two wands still pointing in his face. "Alone, I mean." Harry frowned. "Please, Harry, for old times' sake."

"What do you think, Neville?" Harry asked his friend, assuming that he had the strongest emotional reaction despite his pretended calmness.

Neville shrugged in response. "Endure him. It could well be for the last time." Albus gulped as he noticed the cold fire in Neville's eyes. If he was any indication of what his grandma felt, this conversation was long overdue.

"Alright, let's go."

.

"Talk," Harry growled a few minutes later. Both he and his 'guest' had entered an empty interrogation room, its abilities set on suppressing magic. They had left their wands with the Aurors but Harry felt secure enough with his mind link to his friends established. "A little warning: one try to use Legilimency on me and I let my girls loose on you. It would be too bad to deny Augusta her chance to have a go at you, wouldn't it?"

"I would never…"

"Yeah, yeah," Harry interrupted him rudely. "Talk, I said. Time is running."

Albus, whose false smile had actually slipped at the mentioning of Augusta's name, nodded gravely. "Harry, these times are troubling and dour. You've been able to deal Tom a serious blow but he isn't gone for good. You still have to deal permanently with him," he gestured towards Harry's scar. "And there are still many of his followers around. They have to be caught and put on trial."

"No, they have to be killed like rabid dogs," Harry fumed aggressively.

Albus made that annoying '_I'm disappointed by your childish reaction_' sigh but let it otherwise slip. "Whatever. In any case there is still much to do."

"I know this," Harry rolled his eyes. "And the point of this profound conversation is?"

_Here it comes_, he mused as Albus leant back in his seat only to put on his best grandfatherly smile. "You'll need my help, Harry." Albus nodded gravely, his expression telling Harry that he actually believed it to be true. "I have connections all over the world. I know Tom better than anybody else. I've spent endless hours looking into the kind of magic he is using, researching about Horcruxes. I can help you to find and destroy them. Together we could finish this dark chapter of British history. Together we could bring hope and a future to the wizards and witches of our home country. We could be a team, Harry, a winner's team."

.

Daphne and her friends were watching the whole exchange from the next room, a little magical trick allowing them to see and hear it. One of the Aurors had actually tried to object, telling them something about a private conversation and all, but Daphne's glare had been enough to convince him otherwise. Now they were anxiously awaiting Harry's response.

Two years ago he would have agreed.

One year ago he would have started to scream and rage.

Now however he did something completely different: he laughed his arse off.

Daphne's tense expression softened into a small smile as she watched her boyfriend nearly falling from his chair, his body shaken by rolling waves of laughter. Suddenly her attention was interrupted and she felt herself hugged by Hermione.

"Err… not that I don't appreciate the gesture, Mione, but what is this about?" Daphne wondered.

"The credit for this belongs to you, Daphne," Hermione explained teary-eyed. "I tried for years to help him grow up into the man he was meant to be. But this," she gestured towards Harry. "This is your influence. I'm so happy Harry found you."

Daphne hugged her back. "The same could be said about Neville and you, Hermione. And Harry helped me too, like Neville did wonders regarding you being more relaxed. This is what love is able to change in us."

"All of us changed very much in the last two years," Neville commented softly. "I happen to think we all changed for the better."

His girls nodded, before their attention was drawn back to Harry. He had been able to get himself back under control and now addressed a flabbergasted and slightly angry Albus Dumbledore.

"You're a fool, you know that? You have no idea anymore of what is happening around you. You don't have the foggiest idea of what we did to Moldyshorts or which plans we have for the future. Yes," he continued with a sneer "there still are many things to do. I'll have to get rid of the scar and we have to destroy the last Horcruxes. You know: had you offered me your help a year ago I would have accepted. However, you more than proved since then that you can't be trusted. I won't allow you to sacrifice me or those I love for your imbecile idea of the 'Greater Good'. My conception of goodness and yours are two completely different pairs of shoes."

"Harry…"

"Be quiet," Harry forcefully stopped him. "You said 'we could bring hope and a future to the wizards and witches of our home country'. Don't you see the errors in that statement? This isn't only about Britain anymore. The countries are growing together. Ever heard of that little Muggle development called 'European Union'? They have a common parliament; there is even talk about a common currency. I want to have this for the magical countries too. The battles against Moldy's forces had only been a success because we had Aurors from three other countries at our backs, because we had healers from all over Europe helping us.

"But far more important: you made the old error of only speaking about wizards and witches. What about Werewolves, house elves and Goblins? What about Squibs and Muggles? My friends and I have far greater plans than you could ever imagine. We have much to do. We have Death Eaters to kill and a society to change. I already killed one Dark Lord. I won't endure another Dark Lord at my side, ready to stab me in the back at any moment."

Albus paled when Harry labelled him a Dark Lord. He opened his mouth to object but again Harry didn't listen. "No, Dumbledore, it's enough. I listened to your silliness for old times' sake. And now you listen to me: don't write me a letter ever again. Don't approach me ever again. Leave me the hell alone and don't you dare to try to interrupt my plans. Enjoy your last weeks on Earth and do your best to die in an honourable way. Farewell, Dumbledore. Can't say it was a pleasure to meet you but it was certainly an experience."

Without another word he left the room.

.

"I think he deserves a serious snogging session," Hermione commented, feeling immensely proud of Harry.

Daphne could only agree whole-heartedly.

.

_**Somewhere near Birmingham**_

.

_At last_, Alecto did nothing to suppress the broad grin of happiness. She was hiding in the bushes, watching the narrow and filthy street below. Old houses, formerly used to house steel-workers, now mostly abandoned and beyond repair, they had apparently found new inhabitants. There were always a couple of young men on the street, doing badly in hiding their job: standing guard.

Alecto had been looking for Fenrir and his pack for weeks and now at last she had been successful. Fenrir himself hadn't made an appearance so far, but she noticed quite a few other people that screamed Werewolf. She had been careful to stay out of sight and even considered staying downwind. Now she had only to wait. It would be difficult to get at him without any other Werewolves around, but she would find a way.

_You'll pay for what you did to me, Fenrir_, she growled. _I'll tear your limbs apart and feed you to the dogs_.

For a moment her hand rested on the pocket of her jacket where the vial was hidden. She had spent a greater part of the little money her cousin Melisandre had been able to offer and bought a vial of poison. The apothecary had explained that it would work against Werewolves, with silver and Wolfsbane being components of the poison. She could feel it even through the material of vial and jacket. She had to be careful not to poison herself.

Alecto smiled: _soon, Fenrir, soon_.

.

"Everything ready?" Fenrir asked his second-in-command. He didn't trust him as much as his predecessor, the Werewolf being a new member of the pack and a Norwegian to add, but he had to use what was left. At least he was a strong brute and mediocre clever. It would do for now.

The other man nodded. "She has been sighted a few times. The cage is ready and the curse-breaker prepared the area for springing an anti-apparition ward. She won't get away."

"Don't disappoint me," Fenrir threatened. "I want her at my mercy. If she gets away, you'll take her place."

"I understand," the Werewolf fumed inwardly but bowed his head submissively. There would be another time, for payback, and to avenge his late Alpha's death.

.

_**Ministry of Magic**_

.

There was a big crowd on the Ministry square. It could have been expected, but the amount of public interest was still unbelievable. Somehow news had gotten out about the meeting between Harry and Dumbledore, and now everybody was eager to see if the boy-who-conquered would speak in defence of his old headmaster. The Aurors guarding Dumbledore on that day had pledged their innocence about that news leak and Amelia believed them. Kingsley had been careful to appoint only Aurors who were trustworthy and patient. Especially the latter was important with a prisoner as annoying as Albus. Nearly every day he had written his small complaints about his beloved lemon drops, some allegedly stolen casket of liquor or that 'ghost intruder'. Not that Amelia hadn't enjoyed shooting down his complaints, but slowly it got annoying.

At last Albus appeared with a detachment of more than twenty Aurors, four of them carrying a special kind of staff creating a weak shield around them and Albus who walked in the middle. It wouldn't protect him against serious curses but it would do for the smaller hexes and bad fruits that Amelia expected to fly in his direction. She would have preferred to see him arrive somewhere else, out of sight of the waiting public and nearer to the court room. Minister Fudge however thought it to be more appropriate to allow the agitated crowd a chance to let off some steam. Perhaps he was right.

_Let the bad fruits fly_, Amelia sighed from a safe distance.

The wizards and witches of London didn't disappoint her.

.

_He looks shocked_, Amelia noticed a wee bit later. Some caring soul had purged most traces of the fruits and vegetables that hit him in the few moments between disabling the shield and entering the Ministry. At least one stinging hex had been able to hit him and a third of his beard had a sickly yellow colour now. _He should have expected it_, she mused, before lifting the colour jinx and nodding towards a Mediwitch to treat Albus' pain. He was her prisoner after all and this day would be bad enough for him.

After a while, every single seat was occupied, some of them even double with a child or smaller witch sitting on someone's lap. Hundreds more were watching the show via the magical viewer setup that had been used at the tournament and since then made an appearance here and there. The Minister was present but left the actual duty to seven respected members of the Wizengamot. As far as Amelia knew, two of them belonged to Albus old crowd. It wouldn't rescue him from Augusta's wrath.

The next two hours were exhausting and boring. Mostly a repetition of the hearing some months ago, old news really. Albus denied most charges, admitted a few and defended his actions with 'always having the Greater Good' on his mind. There were a few attesters in his defence, speaking about all the good he had done in the past. Most judges and majority of the audience didn't believe him and the few believers left switched sides after Aberforth Dumbledore took the board. Amelia knew of the tension between the brothers. It had been there for… forever, as far as she remembered. Aberforth belonged to those wizards and witches that had never forgiven Albus for his betrayal on Valentine's Day. Aberforth himself had nearly died on that day.

"He hated to be forced to stay at home, to take care of our sister. I'm certain back then he hated Muggles for what they did to our sister. I hated them too, I admit. Attacking a woman like that is a terrible deed, irrespective of who the attacker or who the victim are. Why he chose to not only befriend Grindelwald, but even trust him and follow him for a while, I can't say. My opinion would certainly be biased. However, the facts show that he shared some of Grindelwald's beliefs. You may think it was the error of youth but I don't share that opinion. No, he actually believed him for a while, as wrongly as he later believed to be right about how to fight 'for the light'. There always was always only 'his way' and no one else's. If you weren't with him, you were against him. I have been a member of his Order for a big part of my life. I never trusted him completely but I always assumed he was the lesser evil with maniacs like Tom Riddle running around. Perhaps I've been wrong."

Amelia had more or less expected that Albus' solicitor would go for 'senility' as a defence when things went downhill. They had even prepared for that possibility and got a number of mind-healers on standby. However, Albus apparently wanted to go down in an honourable way and not be remembered as the 'mad old hatter'. _Perhaps not his best decision_, Amelia mused, watching the determined face of Augusta Longbottom.

.

"Harry Potter, Scion of House Potter, please take your seat."

Harry, while certainly looking like the son of James Potter with his splendid Acromantula robes, had avoided the trap of trying to look older than he was. Perhaps it was this discrepancy between his boyish appearance and the serious, calm voice that made the most impression. For a while he spoke about the past, how he met Neville and how much he changed after he got the new wand and underwent the realignment of his magical core.

"He turned into the powerful wizard he should have been all his life. Daphne and I would love him as a brother even as a squib, but we were happy to see him develop like this. Albus Dumbledore attempted to deny him this chance. He admitted that he – at best – wanted to heal him in a few years. It would have been too late for all the Aurors whose lives Neville rescued at the battle with his earth magic. It would have been too late for me, because Neville was as much part of our victory against Riddle as Daphne, Hermione and I. Dumbledore is always speaking of the Greater good but he has never been able to answer me on whose Greater Good he is speaking about. If nothing else I hope this trial will be proof to everyone out there that nobody is above the law; and nobody is allowed to influence the lives of others because 'he knows better'.

"I understand all those people that followed him for so long, I really do. I believed him myself far too long. I adored him, trusted him. How could he be wrong, Mugwump, Headmaster and all, the great Albus Dumbledore? I needed some time to figure him out. I promised myself to never again make this error. I expect all of you to do the same. Don't allow 'great men' to walk all over you. This is our life, our future. It's our duty to shape it.

"I would like to finish with a small personal statement," he addressed the audience, his eyes searching for his family. He smiled shortly: "please tolerate if it sounds a tad childish. My adorable fiancée however said that as a boy I'm expected to be somewhat childish from time to time."

Daphne's "behave" was mostly drowned out by a round of snickers.

Harry turned around and stared Dumbledore down: "I fully believe each and every charge to be founded." _You're down, Albus_, Amelia smirked. Albus got very pale, perhaps realizing at last that Harry wouldn't change his mind at the last moment. "On the day Lady Augusta Longbottom blasts your skinny arse asunder, I'll cheer for her the whole time and later I'll dance a jig on your grave."

.

"Lady Augusta Longbottom," the head judge called forward the grand lady everybody had been waiting for. With a stony face she walked down to the chair in front of the court. Only Amelia knew that Augusta had left her wand behind, fearing for her self-control. She certainly wanted to kill Albus, but in a duel and not here, not like a rabid dog irrespective how much he deserved it.

"Your Lordship, members of the court," she started, her voice struggling for control. "I thank you for this opportunity. I think we heard enough about the Greater Good today to last for a whole life and more. We listened to the ramblings of an old man, set in his ways, that only he knows best. We saw memories of the wrongs he did, learned about his weak excuses and silly explanations. I'll leave it to historians to ponder about which decisions had been wrong, or right in the long run. I'll concentrate on a single point, a point that it decisive for me: it simply wasn't his right to make those decisions.

"It wasn't his right to allow those attacks on the houses Potter and Longbottom to happen only to make some stupid prophecy turn true.

"It wasn't his right to prolong the pain of my son and daughter-in-law, from a few months to more than a decade – a deed that nearly cost my son his sanity forever.

"It wasn't his right to castrate my grandson's magic without regards for his happiness.

"It wasn't his right to risk the life of Neville and his friends as well as all the other students time and time again.

"It wasn't your right, Albus Dumbledore," she turned towards him with cold fury in her eyes. "You were wrong and you'll pay for all the wrongs you did."

Standing up she addressed the court now: "according to the old traditions and my right as the head of House Longbottom, for all the wrongs he did, proven and unproven, for the pain we felt and the rage that is burning in my heart, I demand the right to call in The Trial of Grievance. Don't you dare to deny it," she growled.

More than one court member gulped at the sight of her demanding her right, while the audience started to cheer after some moments of shocked silence. Here and there someone explained to the people around him what this 'Trial of grievance' meant and it needed a while for silence to settle in again.

"Augusta, please see reason," Albus whined. There wasn't much of his usual regal bearing left. Augusta didn't even look around, her eyes fully concentrated on the judges. That they neither left their seats to deliberate nor looked surprised or shocked showed clearly that they had expected this move and nothing being told today had changed their opinion. The trial had been more for the audience. There was simply no base to deny Augusta her claim. The rightfulness of the charges would be proven – or denied – through the outcome of the trial of grievance. One by one they nodded towards the head judge and after only a few minutes he declared their decision:

"After listening to both sides, after watching proof and hearing opinion, we decide on this: we entitle Lady Augusta Longbottom, Head of House Longbottom, to claim justice. We allow you to call forward the defendant, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, on the fourteenth of August and invoke the Trial of Grievance. Should the defendant not heed your call, he will be accounted guilty of all charges and treated accordingly. His wand will be snapped, his magic will be bound and he'll spent the rest of his life in Nurmengard."

_Fitting_, Amelia smirked. Nurmengard, the prison of Gellert Grindelwald, would become the grave of another Dark Lord. The date had been chosen because it was the day of the New Moon, giving Albus around one month to prepare and arrange everything.

"Make. Your. Peace. Albus," Augusta snarled. "See you one last time in one month."

Albus nodded weakly, looking very ill. _He was doomed_.

.

_She went through with it_, Albus pondered sadly. He was back at home, the way a walk of shame even worse than his arrival. Until the last moment he had hoped Harry and Augusta would change their minds, hoped that all of this was only a bad dream from which he would awake every moment.

_They don't understand. They never did. Why couldn't they see reason? Why couldn't they understand that he was right, that only he was able to see the whole picture? Sacrifices were necessary sometimes. You can't cook an omelette without breaking a few eggs. _

Albus had no doubt now that the trial would take place. Again he had no doubt that he would lose the fight. It wasn't about reasons and explanation, about apologies and excuses. It was only about the grief Augusta felt. Magic would hear her claim and support her. It would enhance her magic trifold and even he wouldn't stand a chance.

_I can't allow this to happen_, Albus sighed. _Harry has won a battle but the war isn't over. I'll have to still be around on the day of Tom's return. They'll see reason then. They'll understand why I did what had to be done. I'll fight for the Greater Good again_.

He glanced around. _I'll have to prepare_.

.

_**London – Heathrow**_

.

"Take care of them," Neville demanded, trying badly to hide the depth of his concern. Not that he actually expected something to happen but still there were too many sympathizers of Voldemort out there to take any chances.

"Of course, Sir. You can trust us." The older one of the duo of French Aurors bowed his head. Both came from Algerian families and would be far more inconspicuous than any British Auror. Neville had been more than a tad relieved when Harry told him about the arrangement with the French DMLE – unlike Hermione who hated to have babysitters around as she called it.

A few steps away Harry was speaking with Emma about their travels. They would take a fly to Cairo, stay there for two days before continuing their voyage to Darfur via Khartoum. Hermione would have liked to take a look at Alexandria and Luxor too, perhaps even take the ship route up the river Nile, but that would have taken too long and both women really wanted to see Dan Granger as soon as possible.

"I know she won't get much sun with all the clothes she'll be expected to wear around there, to bebeing appropriate and all, but please try to keep her away from her books every now and then," he just begged her.

"Hey," Hermione shoved him in mock annoyance. "I don't read all the time, I have you know."

"That's right," Daphne nodded gravely. "Sometimes she sleeps." Before Hermione got a chance to do more than pout, Daphne hugged her. "Keep safe."

"Enough, girls," Emma interrupted the silly banter, linking arms with Harry and Daphne. "Let's go get a cuppa. I've the impression our lovebirds need a moment on their own."

Hermione flushed. Her mother knew her too well. Neville mouthed a 'thank you' towards his future mother-in-law and dragged Hermione towards a quiet corner and out of sight behind a dividing wall with some 'London theatre' flyer on it. He intended to show Hermione how much he would miss her.

.

_**Krakow – Poland**_

.

_What a way to spend the summer break_, Cormac McLaggen thought as he followed the heavyset boy towards his dorm. _Call me Jacek_, had been the only personal sentence so far. He named the other boys of his year too as well as a few teachers. The Collegium Minor, magical school of Krakow and sister institute of the Muggle University Collegium Major, was hidden at the edge of the old Polish city. He liked the city so far. It was an old city with the majestic Wawel overlooking it, the former residence of the Polish kings in times past. Today the city was home to the Polish Ministry of Magic and a number of the most important families of Eastern Europe. As he had been forced to leave Hogwarts, his family had chosen Krakow because of the opportunities to get to know some of the future leaders of this country.

Cormac however had been far more interested in the good sport facilities. Krakow was renowned to offer classes in boxing, fencing and riding as well as a number of other sport activities. Because of the vicinity of Krakow there wouldn't be Quidditch but he hoped to compensate for this. Especially fencing drew his interest. As far as he knew, a number of students had even participated in Muggle competitions. His grandfather, since hearing about Cormac's move, hadn't stopped to spin stories about the time in 1960 when he watched one of his youth friends winning the Silver medal with the Polish Olympic team in sabre fencing.

"The left extension is the boys' dorm," Jacek just explained. "The one to the right belongs to the girls. We're only allowed to meet them in the middle commons. Only the prefects are exempted from that rule."

_Nothing new_, Cormac mused, silently continuing with a smirk: _Nothing I intend to consider_.

He followed the boy through several common rooms towards the one he would share with Jacek for the next twelve months. With most students being away with their families, the dorm was mostly empty. Only a few of them, like Jacek, had opted to stay for some summer project; others belonged to the large number of orphans living at Krakow or had to undergo summer school – like him. He absolutely hated the idea of going to summer school like he was some Ron Weasley, but apparently the teachers hadn't been impressed by his examination results and only allowed the move if he partook in some serious remedial lessons.

_I'll try to make the best out of it_, he told himself. _This won't be too bad. And perhaps_, he grinned lecherously, _there will be an attractive girl or two for some private coaching_.

.

"Jacek?"

Cormac turned around, expecting to see the other boy entering the room. Instead he gawked at one of the most attractive and regal looking girls he ever saw.

_That's my future girlfriend_, he decided now and then. _I'll have to find a way to get her out of her robes and soon_. He actually felt 'little Cormac' twitch in anticipation.

He was distracted for a moment by the sight of two other girls following her, those ones not nearly as beautiful. They towered over him by two inches at least and made Greg Goyle and Vince Crabbe look skinny. Contrary to the boys, these two hadn't the blank eyes of complete morons and that weight was obviously muscles, not wobbling fat. In any case, they distracted him long enough not to notice the look of disgust from his 'future girlfriend'.

"Enchantée, Mademoiselle," Cormac greeted her, remembering some story about French being the language of the higher families around here, with many of the older ones having connections to France since the time of Napoleon Bonaparte and the 'Grande Armée'. He moved forward to grab her hand for a polite kiss on her knuckles, as he felt himself seized by two pairs of powerful arms and lifted a feet above the ground only to be smashed against the wall, unable to move. Cormac was neither skinny nor a lightweight but these two girls didn't even breathe any heavier.

"Allow me to introduce to you my dear friends," a melodic voice interrupted his thought. "These are Henryka Krol and Natia Zajac. They belong to our school wrestling team. Henryka even belongs to the Polish youth team. We're very proud of her accomplishments. Say hello to Mister McLaggen, girls."

"Hello, Mister McLaggen," the girls deadpanned in unison.

Cormac blinked a few times, feeling somewhat overwhelmed. After a few seconds and on the girl's sign, her two fragile friends pulled him away from the wall only to immediately smash him against it for a second time. The back of his head connected with the wall, causing a headache.

"It is polite to reciprocate a greeting, Mister McLaggen."

Cormac gulped: "Hello, Ladies."

The girl raised a single eyebrow. "I see we have still to work on your manners." Cormac fumed but said nothing. He wasn't dumb enough not to realize that this wasn't the moment to play stupid. "To finish the introduction," she pointed towards her bulging chest. "I'm Grazyna Mazur, Headgirl of the Collegium Minor and leader of our Fencing team."

_I would love to cross blades with you, you little minx_, Cormac smirked.

"Forget it, you chauvinistic pig," Grazyna sneered.

Cormac didn't like the sound of this. Had she used Legilimency on him?

"Yes, I have," she smirked.

"That's not allowed?" Cormac fumed.

"Says who?" Grazyna rolled her yes.

"You know, I got two interesting letters about you." The statement prompted Cormac to pale. "The letters were from my dear cousin Fleur Delacour and her fiancé Charlie Weasley." Now he felt deathly ill. "You should perhaps know that while Fleur and I aren't very close, I really adore her little sister Gabrielle. I was floored to hear that she wouldn't visit Krakow but that cold Scottish castle." Cormac's mind raced as he tried to remember how he had behaved towards the little girl. What he remembered wasn't promising for his future at this school.

"And Charlie," Grazyna gestured towards one of the wrestlers "Natia has a teeny-weeny crush on him since she made a summer internship at the Romanian dragon reserve. She even met his little sister Ginny there. Do you happen to know Ginny?" Cormac nearly fainted. "Nice girl, Natia told me, very brave and loyal to her friends." Natia's eyes spoke of pain, while Grazyna's turned very cold. "You see, I believe in second chances. I had to use one myself a few years ago. I wasn't always nice." Henryka actually snickered, earning her a light slap. "Shush you. As I wanted to say: I believe in second chances, however only second, not third, fourth and umpteenth. Let me tell you how this next year will go for you," she continued with a voice like speaking to a toddler.

"You'll keep away from our girls. You won't leer at them, you won't use any lewd comments or jokes. Our boys are quite conservative and protective about us girls, being the weaker sex and all." Cormac actually saw the irony of this comment with the hands of two of those weak girls vicelike keeping him up straight. "You are only allowed to speak with any girl about school themes. If you want to court a girl, you will have to beseech my allowance."

"Who do you think you are?" Cormac was slowly losing his patience.

"Henryka," Grazyna calmly responded. In return the addressed girl let go of her grip with one hand and punched Cormac onto his lowest rib. He nearly vomited.

"I'm the one standing between you and a year of hellish pain. Don't tempt me, understood?"

He nodded weakly, not eager to feel Henryka's 'puny' fist a second time.

"You will always be polite around the girls. You will look them in the eye when speaking with them. You will always address them with 'Miss' or their title if they have one. If you actually have to speak with me, you will bow and address me with 'Ksieznyczka Grazyna'. Ksieznyczka means Princess, if you need to know, and I deserve that title because my grandfather is…"

"Kacper Mazur, leader of the Polish Veela clans," Cormac remembered with a deep groan. Kacper Mazur belonged to those people his father had hoped Cormac to get to know while being around here.

Grazyna agreed with a curt nod. "Do as I told you, Mister McLaggen, and your stay at Krakow will be alright and certainly a valuable experience. Behave contrary to my expectations and you'll play wrestling dummy every night until you learn. Have I made myself clear?"

"Crystal clear," Cormac gulped.

"Good," Grazyna smiled. "Enjoy your stay at Krakow, Mister McLaggen."

.

_**Hogwarts – Headmaster's Office**_

.

"He did what?" Headmaster Flitwick stared at his guest with wide eyes.

Amelia rolled her eyes. "Albus Dumbledore, former leader of the 99 positions of the dooming good… bunked." Actually she was absolutely furious, about the fact itself, that her detachment of Aurors hadn't prohibited it and was still unable to trace him.

"When? How? Why?"

Amelia sighed. "The court, because of the trial, wanted to allow him the opportunity to settle everything. Yesterday, he visited his solicitor. Only it wasn't the solicitor at all but one of his former 'Burned Chicken' order members under Polyjuice. He stunned the pair of Aurors and helped Dumbledore to get away. And why? Cowardice I assume. I have no doubt about the validity of Augusta's charges. He'll lose that trial and he knew it."

"I don't think so," Filius slowly shook the head. "Your point about cowardice I mean. I share your opinion about the charges. I only assume that he still thinks of himself as absolutely necessary to end this war. He's certainly hiding somewhere, waiting for the moment to play hero."

Amelia nodded slowly. "You know him better than me. That's exactly the reason why I need your help."

"My help?" Filius asked.

"Yeah. My team is searching for him and rummaging through his belongings at this hour. I want you to help them. Have a look at his notes, letters, everything. Perhaps there is a hint about some hidden place, some location he prepared for this. Anything to find him."

Filius looked thoughtfully but nodded in the end. "I don't expect to find something. He's too careful for that. But I'll give it a try."

"Thank you, Filius," Amelia sighed contently. "Let's hope for the best."

.

_**A/N**_

_The Krakow scene is in response to a few reviewer requests. I hope you liked it. _

_Next chapter will mostly be about a little side adventure of Hermione while staying in Sudan. _


	4. Chapter 4 Interlude - African Queen

_**A/N**_

_And now to something completely different. As announced last time, here is a little bit of Africa today. This chapter has nearly nothing to do with the main story. It's more to show that there is a life outside of Britain and Voldy, that there are things to plan and to do after everything else is said and done. Hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless._

_A little warning: there will be some historical/geographical "facts" in this story. It's mostly "Wikipedian knowledge", filigreed with my own ideas. Please don't hurt me if I got something wrong._

.

**Interlude – African Queen**

.

_**Luxor – Hotel Winter Palace – July 1996**_

.

"The trousers suit fits you," the compliment brought her out of her reverie in front of the body-length mirror.

"You think so?" She asked with a light scowl. Even after months of Neville proving her otherwise, Hermione still felt too self-conscious about her own body, often thinking of herself as a brainiac, and not as a beautiful girl. Hermione turned around to notice Khaled watching her. His eyes lingered a bit too long on her backside, earning him a slap from his older colleague.

"Don't forget your sun helmet," Altair reminded her, pushing the old-fashioned helmet that would go fabulously with her beige pants-suit into her hands. She looked like a 19th Century relic hunter now. "Don't stay in the sun for too long," he started to admonish her "your skin…"

"Isn't used to it," she mocked in return "I know, Dad."

Altair glared but the amusement in his eyes showed that he was happy about her enduring his mother-hen behaviour. Altair, the elder of the two French-Algerian Aurors, was only a few years younger than Dan Granger and had taken to the roll of the overprotective brother like a fish to water. Altair, the name meaning eagle as far as Hermione remembered, had sharp eyes and a sharp mind. He knew at least five different languages and had a good grasp of Egyptian and Arabian history and geography, allowing them to talk endlessly about their visits to all kinds of historical sights.

On the other hand Khaled, the younger one, was too cocky for Hermione's liking. He tended to be too flirty, often ogling both mother and daughter. He tried more than once to play the macho man, something neither Granger woman liked very much. Luckily, Altair more or less kept him in line, with the eager help of Emma Granger's sharp tongue.

With a last look into the mirror, Hermione left the hotel's entrance hall and allowed the Egyptian sun to hit her like a brick on the head. _Time to go explore_.

.

Cairo's visit had only been for one day, but what a day it had been, cramped till the last minute with museums and interesting places. Somewhere in the third antiquarian book shop Hermione learned that Neville had bestowed a magically enlarged book bag to Altair and a purse with a couple hundred galleons – both in wizard and Muggle money – explicitly to pay for everything Hermione would like to get. Hermione first tried to deny the gesture, but Altair wanted nothing of it.

"He's your fiancé. It's his job and his right to spoil you. And if we don't buy those books, you would only stay endless hours in those shops reading them right anyway. You see, it's only self-preservation on my part." She didn't believe the last part for one second but was happy about the gesture nonetheless. Hermione would thank Neville later for his sweet thoughtfulness, thoroughly.

Far too soon they had left Cairo again, with more than one sad comment about not having the chance to have a look at Alexandria. Much to her surprise they made a second intermediate stop at Luxor.

"Dad thought that you deserved this," Emma explained. "After all you went through this year, you shouldn't visit Egypt without a chance to have a look at the temple district."

Hermione squeaked loud enough to startle a tourist group nearby and she nearly choked her mother to death in gratitude. Luxor, the temple district, the famous temple erected by pharaoh Amenophis the third in honour of the god Amun – she had often dreamed of visiting it one day, while reading her books about the Egypt of the old.

"Did you know that a part of the temple is standing in Paris right now?" Altair asked.

For a moment Hermione wondered what he was speaking about. Then, she remembered: "the obelisk."

Altair grinned. "I should have known you read about that part." Within seconds they were drawn into an in-deep discussion about Egyptian relics and if it was right or wrong to take them away from their originating country, as well as whether or not they should be returned. Emma and Khaled exchanged a look of amusement watching them, rolling their eyes: _nerds, but they're our nerds_.

Far too soon, but not before they had a look at the only twenty years old Luxor museum, they had to depart again, this time to…

.

_**Khartoum**_

.

"Why are they doing this?" Hermione asked, gesturing towards the building workers who were just pulling down the tower of the 'All Hallows Cathedral'. According to the information board near the entrance, the cathedral had served the Anglican Church until 1971. Since then a new cathedral had been erected a couple hundred paces away.

Khartoum, the Sudanese capital city, had proven to be a weird mix of old fashioned quarters and very modern ones. Especially the central quarter around the presidential palace was quite obviously groomed for foreign visitors and tourists with interesting spots all around.

Altair, having just spoken with one of the workers, returned and answered her question: "entrance to the tower isn't allowed because it's not a church anymore. They'll turn the main building into a museum of the Anglican-British period of the city. Perhaps you should return in a few years."

It was meant as a joke but Hermione thought about it quite seriously, nodding slowly. "I would like that. I only learned about that part of history after seeing that film with Charlton Heston."

Altair raised a single eyebrow: "the film _Khartoum_?" Hermione nodded. Altair sighed: "I didn't like it very much, too American, not a single Arabian main role aside from the big bad Mahdi."

Hermione shrugged. "I assume there are Arabian films about that part of history too, presumably as one-sided as the American ones."

"Presumably," Altair agreed. "I can't remember if he used that connection in his election campaign, but I would expect him too – the former Sudanese president, Sadiq al-Mahdi."

"I read about him," Emma interjected. "Wasn't he president until the…" she glanced around "military putsch in '93?"

"Yes," Altair nodded. "He was under house arrest since, at least until a few weeks ago, when he fled to Eritrea."

"I hope he doesn't try anything," Hermione sighed. "This land deserves some peace."

"Enough of that dark talk," Khaled pouted. "Let's speak about a friendlier descendant of the Mahdi. Did you know that Alexander Siddig, the actor of Doctor Bashir in Star Trek Deep Space 9, is also an al-Mahdi...?"

.

_**On their way to Darfur**_

.

"Darfur has only around 300 millimetres of average rainfall per year," Hermione read loudly from her guide. "Most of it happens in July and August, allowing those months to be called 'humid' while the rest of the year would be 'arid'."

She looked through the small window down on the gigantic lake covering a big part of Darfur. Glancing towards the picture in her guide, taken in winter, she had problems to bring in concordance the sight below and the picture of a wide, flat and completely dry plain.

"Water is a real problem around here," Altair nodded. "It very important, a real life-server for all inhabitants. How much rainfall is there up in Scotland?"

Hermione pondered about the question for a moment. "2,000 to 3,000 millimetres I think, the most being at the Western Highlands." She sighed. "It's hard to imagine. You know, there was this one film, I think it was called 'Miracle of the Desert' or something like that. It was about the Namibian desert and the rainfall down there, creating a garden Eden for a few weeks each year. I think it would be similar right here."

"Only here are big tribes living close to each other, often at each other throats about water rights. It's even more precious than the ore and oil deposits under the desert sand."

Hermione nodded slowly. "Magic could do much good around here," she mumbled. Since they began to cross the mighty but very flat lake, she had this weird feeling. _It was the water_, she knew. Training with Harry and Neville had awoken something in her. While Daphne had been able to learn some fire magic, that had been denied completely to her as if it was contrary to her inner nature. Only Earth magic was within her grasp so far. Each of the four friends was close to one element: Harry – Fire, Neville – Earth, Daphne – Air and her… Water.

However, unlike their boys, Daphne and her hadn't really started to train their own brand of magic, mostly because they had found no teacher so far. Was it a coincidence that they shared this affinity, each to another element? Daphne, occupied with her healing magic, wouldn't have the time for it, but perhaps she should start looking for some books about Water magic. She liked the idea of using it to help people like those far below. For a moment Hermione smiled, thinking about little children playing in the water, happy to live and to experience this short-time joy.

Far away, the eyes towards the aeroplane, a mighty lioness roared. _It was nearly time_.

.

_**Darfur – Dschebel Marra**_

.

"I'll do the talking," Altair stopped the girl. After a moment of hesitation, Hermione acknowledged his decision with a curt nod. She didn't have to like it, but it was certainly wise, as a single glance around suggested. They were in a small city near the Dschebel Marra, a mountain chain characterizing the area. They still had a hundred miles to go and Altair wanted to rent a car from one of the local supporters of the "Doctors without Borders" organization.

A portkey would have been faster. Merlin, a broom would have been faster, but where was the adventure in that? For a few weeks she was allowed to be a normal teenage girl, and fully experience a new and very foreign world. Alright, she had accepted the cooling charm, there was that. Neville had been wise in his assumption she would have to wear far more clothes than appropriate – or perhaps exact the amount that was appropriate, for the population at least, if not for the climate. Teaching her how to wear these endless widths of clothes without suffocating was apparently another one of Altair's endless talents. It wasn't as hot and overbearing as expected and the cooling charms helped. She still didn't feel 'cool' but it was at least bearable now.

Emma Granger was sitting in the shadow and watched the show around her. Children were playing quite loudly, most of them in the four to ten years range. A single mother was watching them like a hawk from her own work post on a porch. A few times, Emma Granger felt the woman's eyes resting on herself and her daughter. She wasn't certain that even Hermione's magic would be enough should the woman see a danger for the children in the out-of-place women.

Just now she tensed, her gaze lingering on Hermione. A girl, not older than six, had stopped right by her daughter and stared at her with a broad smile, a single tooth missing. Like most people around she had a dark skin, more Black African than Arabian. Hermione reciprocated the smile and softly spoke to the girl, the words too low for Emma to understand. The girl stepped forward and hesitantly reached out her hand to touch Hermione's hand, so pale in comparison. She started as suddenly Khaled came rushing in, yelling something in Arabian.

"Stop it, Khaled," Hermione left her seat and stepped between girl and man.

Emma hastened to look towards the Arabian mother but noticed something akin to appreciation in her eyes.

"You have to be more careful," he scolded Hermione, who only rolled her eyes.

"Careful?" She mocked. "They're children."

"They could be thieves," he fumed. "They certainly only see easy money in you."

"I trust them," Hermione got angry now. "I'm able to care for myself, thank you very much. Please step back, you frighten them."

The girl didn't look very frightened right now. Instead she stepped at Hermione's side and put her tiny hand in hers, sticking out her tongue towards the big bad man.

"Know your place, woman," Khaled growled, 'macho man' raising its ugly head right now. "I know this place better than…"

"Khaled," Altair now made an appearance as well. A heated conversation followed and in the end Khaled's shoulders sagged. "I apologize," he said not very convincingly "I had no right to speak to you like this."

"Right you are," Hermione growled back, thanking Altair with a curt nod, before sitting down again and turning towards the little girl. She pressed her open hand on her chest and told her: "Hermione, I'm Hermione."

The girl glanced towards her 'mother' before she answered, very fast and vivid. She pointed towards herself and some of her friends, telling Hermione something, perhaps their names and/or what they were doing. The only thing Hermione was able to understand was the girl's own name: Suha.

"You're Suha?" She asked, pointing towards the girl. The girl nodded eagerly, her grin broadening. There was something very strange about this girl. Hermione felt something…

"Suha means 'my star'," Altair whispered.

"Suha is a beautiful name," Hermione said to the girl whose smile brightened like she understood every word. Glancing around to ascertain nobody was watching, Hermione poured a bit of water in her hand, the girl watching her closely. Slowly the water, with the tiniest of glowing, started to condense. With wide eyes, Suha saw how the water turned into a stone, something akin to a clear quartz, shaped like a star. "This is a star," Hermione explained in a whisper "Suha."

She offered her the quartz and after a moment of hesitation the girl accepted the gift, jumping Hermione and hugging her afterwards.

"Suha," her mother called her now and the girl obeyed instantly, running back but not without waving farewell.

_I would obey her too_, Hermione thought after a glance towards the stern woman. She waved back towards the girl and left her place in the shadow with a small sigh. Apparently Altair had his car now. Time for a little journey.

"Statute of Secrecy?" Altair asked with a low voice.

Hermione only shrugged. "She's a child. She's expected to see magic all around her." For a while, she walked at his side in silence, before adding thoughtfully. "I don't know. It somehow felt like the right thing to do."

Altair nodded very slowly, accepting the answer – for now.

.

_**On the road again**_

.

A few hours later, three quarters of the distance done – they had stopped to ask for the way, eat something and make a break, stretching their legs and all. Hermione was quite happy to have a bit of shadow through a couple of trees, while she watched a dozen men working a few dozen steps away. It seemed they were digging for something, their mood not the best one as if they weren't lucky or happy with the result.

A very old was walking around and offering water to the 'tourists', exchanging toothy smiles with them and nice words, with neither understanding the other. Her skin was a black as the deepest coal and very wrinkled with a leathery appearance from the long exposure to the Saharan sun.

"Thank you very much," Emma thanked her, nudged her daughter as Hermione didn't react, her eyes on the workers still.

"The place is wrong," she mumbled. "Oh, sorry," she started, accepting the offered water with a thankful nod.

"What did you say, dear?" Emma asked. The old woman had stopped to go around and was watching Hermione closely.

"The place," Hermione gestured towards the workers, before she turned to the old woman. "They're digging for water aren't they?" She explained her words with gestures, mimicking digging and pointing towards the water before finishing with a gesture like pulling water from the ground.

The woman seemed to understand and nodded, answering something that sounded like a question.

"There is no water," Hermione tried to make herself clear, again gesturing wildly.

The old woman again asked something, apparently inviting Hermione to accompany her to the working crew.

"She wants you to go with her," Altair actually explained. Khaled was watching the show with narrowed eyes but stayed silent. He had been like this the whole day and was slowly grinding on Hermione's nerves. She readily left her shadowy place and walked aside her new acquaintance, her steps slow as the aged woman wasn't so nimble anymore. Her voice however was still clear and domineering. Within seconds she had gathered the working crew, apparently telling them that there was no water at the place they had chosen for a new fountain. For a while some of the men tried to object, but she was clearly winning this contest of wills. In the end she turned towards Hermione again and asked something.

"She wants you to show them a better place," Altair translated.

"But I don't know where?" Hermione answered insecurely.

The old woman only smiled and patted her hand, saying something that sounded reassuringly. Hermione sighed: "I'll try."

She closed her eyes and concentrated on the area around. One or two of the men opened their mouth but a single hiss stopped them. Turning back and forth, Hermione slowly started to walk away. There was something. Altair walked at her side and kept her steady. Several times changing her direction she slowly neared a gathering of big stones. The dozen workers following her like restless children following their kindergartner was certainly a silly sight. In the end she stopped, a dozen steps away from the stones. She opened her eyes and looked around. There was nothing openly special about the place but she simply knew this to be the right location for a fountain. She pointed towards a spot in the middle between her and the stone.

"There," she announced, her voice a tad faltering "water is under there."

Again a wild conversation started but again the old woman stopped them. _Nobody dared to speak against such a formidable woman,_ Hermione noticed. It was like behaving badly towards your own grandmother, you simply didn't do it. With a bit of grumbling, they started to dig and Hermione only hoped that she had been right. The old woman seemed to believe it and patted her hand again, saying something and using the word 'Sechmet' in her speech.

Quizzically Hermione looked towards Altair who seemed equally confused. "She's invoking Sechmet's blessing on you."

"Sechmet?" Hermione wondered. So she'd understood correctly. "But that's…"

"Some Egyptian goddess, yes," Altair confirmed. He shrugged: "I've no idea why she's doing this. Around here all people should be Muslims with a rare Christ thrown into the mix." He pondered about it for a moment but shrugged again: "sorry, really no idea."

"Excuse me," Hermione stopped the woman who had started to walk away. "Excuse me, why are you talking about Sechmet?"

The woman only smiled and answered something, before she patted Hermione's cheek and continued to walk away, towards the shadows.

"She said: you'll know soon enough… water bringer."

Hermione watched her slightly stunned. The day was getting weirder with every passing hour.

.

"_**Doctors without Borders" Camp**_

.

For the last hour Hermione had actually wondered whether she shouldn't have chosen a magical way of transport. Still, there had been those weird encounters, people she wouldn't have met otherwise.

_It had been the right choice_, Hermione decided for herself.

Still, she was able to admit that she was happy about their arrival at the camp. Khaled had glared the whole time and Altair had been deep in thoughts. Only Emma had been in good spirits, happy to meet her husband again. Because of this she was perhaps the first one to notice that something was amiss. The mood was subdued in the camp and there were two military jeeps standing around.

"You have to be Emma and Hermione," a female voice addressed them in English but with a thick Spanish accent. "I'm Blanca, one of the nurses."

Before they had a chance to ask what was going on, two Sudanese soldiers appeared on the scene, immediately starting to converse with Altair in a rushed way. Hermione felt somewhat annoyed to be left out. Without waiting for the 'stupid men' to include her, she dragged Blanca aside. "What's going on?"

"Perhaps you should…"

Hermione shook her slightly, feeling that it had to be something serious. Her father was still not in sight. "What's going on, Blanca? Where is my father?"

Blanca sighed. "There were a couple of men, yesterday in the evening. They were armed and wanted to… I think they simply wanted the medicines for themselves. Medicines are rare and very precious around here. They weren't content with the small supply we had at hand. They… they abducted some of us, three doctors and two nurses. Your father was among them."

Hermione was stunned. She felt… nothing for a moment. Unable to feel, unable to think she simply gazed into space. _I was too late. I could have been here. With a portkey, without our stop in Luxor, I would have been here_.

Someone was speaking to her, but she didn't really hear it. She was too deep in her own little world of guilt and self-reproaches. Suddenly someone slapped her – strongly. This brought her back. She felt the hand print on her flushed cheek.

"Don't," Blanca scolded her. "It's not your fault."

"How could you know?" Hermione asked teary-eyed. _It was her fault_.

"Your father told me." Hermione blinked. "As they brought him away, he said it to me – that you would blame yourself and that it was his decision to go with them."

_That was so like him_, Hermione thought, her last barriers now falling and tears starting to flow freely. She actually allowed Blanca to pull her into an embrace. _He could have escaped_, Hermione realized. _He had his amulet, his way out_. Something had stopped him from using it, presumably the presence of the other victims.

_I have to find him. I have to get him back._

.

_**Two days later…**_

Still no news about the abductees. The soldiers had stayed, explained that they expected some news within the next days. They assumed that the abductors worked for one of the warlords around, that he would try some kind of blackmail. It had been tried before, luckily not often, as the organizations usually didn't cooperate. _Don't cooperate with abductors_, was the stance especially of the officials. It only incited imitators.

This didn't help the Granger women one bit. The remaining doctors and nurses did their best to distract them and make them welcome. However, it was the children that fared far better at this. Especially around Hermione they behaved unusually friendly like they had known her for years. Even the most timid boy behaved more open around her than any other. It prompted more than one nurse to offer Hermione a permanent post at their camp, not all offers being meant as a joke.

This morning a lorry had arrived – not without an armed guard – to equip the camp with a new supply of badly needed medicine. Hermione, who had felt very tempted to use healing magic on some of the serious cases, felt relieved.

"Good, now Marwa can get her penicillin again," she uttered full of joy. Marwa, an eight year old girl, had been one of the most serious cases and Blanca had told her she would survive another week without medicine. Something those blasted bandits apparently ignored completely. _Merlin shall crush their balls_.

Now it was Blanca's moment to look bad. "She's not here anymore."

"What do you mean, she's not here? She didn't…" Hermione hesitated but luckily Blanca shook her head.

"She's still alive as far as I know, but her aunt took her away."

"Why didn't you stop her?" Hermione heatedly demanded to know.

"I didn't have the right." She stopped Hermione's outburst. "Hermione, we're working here with the goodwill of the population. It's their right to decide whether they want to bring their ill to us and when they want to take them away."

"But she could die?"

"I KNOW," Blanca yelled, tears springing from her eyes. Somewhat calmer she repeated. "I know. It was still her right to take her away."

"Where did she take her?" Hermione demanded to know, fully intend to bring her back.

"Back to her family, over there." She gestured towards a small cluster of simply building a few miles away.

"Alright," Hermione nodded and turned around.

Blanca sighed and hurried to fetch Altair, Hermione would need a translator – and someone to keep her temper in line.

.

"Where is Marwa?" Hermione asked the aunt a wee bit later. The woman, in her late thirties and not looking intimidated by Altair's presence in the slightest, only glared back.

"Calm down," Altair demanded and with a heavy sigh Hermione tried to behave. Far softer she asked again. "Where is Marwa? We have new medicine. She needs to get back to the camp."

The woman answered at last, but her answer seemed to surprise Altair.

"What did she say?"

"She said," Altair explained with a deep frown "that she brought her niece to the 'holy lioness'. She said the 'holy lioness' would take care of her."

"What holy lioness?" Hermione wondered, getting only a helpless shrug in return.

"Where is this holy lioness?" She asked now. For a while Altair and the aunt were discussing in a heated manner.

"She wants to show you, but only you. I'm not allowed to accompany you."

"But I wouldn't understand a word," Hermione complained. She hated to admit that she felt far safer with Altair around. Altair tried to explain this to the aunt but she shook her head and said something in return.

"She says, her husband – the husband of the lioness – will translate." Altair sighed, obviously concerned. "I don't know. I don't like this."

Hermione didn't like this either but she wanted to do this. This holy lioness seemed to be important. Marwa was important to her.

"Show me the way."

.

The car was nothing like the one Altair had rented a few days ago. This one was hissing and sputtering and doing all kinds of other noises that didn't sound healthy – at least not coming from a car. It was a wild swinging and rocking back and forth on this sad excuse of a road and Hermione felt every single boon in her body as they arrived an hour later. She had no idea how Marwa could have felt after such an ordeal.

To her confusion, there wasn't a village in front of her, at least no village of the usual kind. Instead of buildings like the ones left behind – clay buildings with whitewash covering them – there were around thirty tents, some big as a two-storey house, others not much bigger than an arbour. They were built around an old stony fountain and a small gathering of palms and dry grass, a small herd of around a hundred cows not far away. The area was a dry mix of desert and savannah and Hermione wondered how the cattle could survive on this – not to speak of the humans.

The aunt left the car, gesturing Hermione to stay and wait. She went towards one of the bigger tents while some of the camp citizens gathered around, staring at her with unreadable expressions. The dire mood only broke as Nawal and Racim, Marwa's siblings, appeared on the scene and hurried towards Hermione to greet her. They chattered without stopping to take a breath but seemed well enough and really happy to see her.

"They seem to like you," a man brought her out of her reverie. She hadn't noticed his arrival and was surprised to see a European face around her. His English was very good with only a tiny French dialect. "Welcome to the camp of Sheikh Malak." He offered Hermione his hand. "I'm Jerome by the way, Meryem's husband – or as you know her: the holy lioness."

.

The last two hours had been interesting and boring at the same time. Meryem apparently had no time to speak with her. To be honest, she looked very busy the whole time, tending the ill, preparing some kind of medicine from plants or simply speaking with her patients and their families. After Nawal and Racim dragged her to Marwa – the girl looked far better than expected but not completely healed, not that Hermione had expected otherwise – they had left her alone with Jerome.

_At least, Marwen handled the voyage better than I feared_.

The man hadn't answered a single question, only cryptically said something about "you'll see". He had done something else however, something Hermione didn't understand in the beginning. Jerome simply repeated every word, every sentence said around them. At first, Hermione felt a bit confused about that but after an hour she suddenly noticed that she understood something one of the patients' family members said to Meryem – and her answer as well. More and more she understood the conversations around her. It was confusing and slightly frightening.

"That's your doing, isn't it?" She asked Jerome.

The man only smiled. "What are you talking about?"

"Me understanding them," she gestured around.

"Perhaps."

"Are you…" She stopped. Could she actually ask him if he was a wizard? She hadn't noticed him casting a spell or using a wand. Merlin, he didn't seem to even wear one.

"A wizard? No," he answered her unspoken question.

"You know?" She paled.

"That you're a witch? Yes," he nodded. "Don't fear, your secret is safe with us."

"But how…" _do you know? How do you do this?_

"It's a talent." He grinned broadly. "Come," he gestured to the entrance. "Meryem is waiting." She had really left the tent sometime and was nowhere to be seen. Feeling overwhelmed, Hermione could only nod and obey. Silently she followed him.

_I want some explanations_, she thought. _And I want them now_.

.

They found Meryem a few minutes later, walking around the grounds, touching palms and plants all around. _They look healthier now_, Hermione noticed. Another thing she noticed was the loving look Jerome had in his eyes. She wondered about his age. He looked like he was in his thirties but her feelings told her she was wrong.

"Two hundred thirty-four," he said without looking.

"Can you read my mind?" Hermione asked slightly afraid and annoyed.

"No," he shook his head. "But I've been around long enough to have heard the question a few times that usually accompanied this expression."

Only now his words sank really in. "Two hundred…"

"…and thirty-four, yes."

"No wizard…"

"I already told you I'm not a wizard." He sounded annoyed now himself.

"Then how did you do that? How did you survive this long?"

"I did nothing," he smiled thoughtfully. "She did," he gestured towards Meryem. "Her love keeps me young. Since I met her, I haven't age a single year."

Hermione threw a scrutinizing look towards the weird woman. She didn't look like the other women around here. Meryem was more of Arabian origin it seemed. She would look more local at some Cairo bazaar or something like that. Hermione felt no magic around her but what she was doing with the plants couldn't be natural, at least not natural in the usual sense.

Suddenly a thought crossed her mind. "She expected me, didn't she?"

Jerome actually smiled and nodded. "She did – for a few years already."

"Did you abduct my father?" She asked angrily, her eyes narrowed. Jerome didn't look impressed, only slightly sad.

"No, the tribe has nothing to do with that. Naturally we heard about it, with parents sending their children to us, even from other tribes. However, we have nothing to do with the abduction. We only knew you would arrive one day, not how, when or why."

Feeling relieved by that answer, Hermione nearly missed how he concluded his statement, using those words that had been used towards her a few days ago already, the words meaning 'water bringer'.

.

_**The holy Lioness**_

"It's a miracle what you're doing with the plants."

Hermione had silently watched Meryem for a while and was only now addressing her. The woman turned around. Her eyes were… inhuman. For a moment Hermione was certain to see big, golden eyes with the typical appearance of cat-iris but a second later they were the usual dark brown often seen around here.

"No," Meryem answered with a soft, deep voice. "A miracle it would be, could I create plants from nothing. I have to work with what exists. It seriously limits my abilities, regretfully."

"Are you a witch?"

"No, but I have some abilities you could call magical, mostly in the healing compartment."

Hermione sighed sadly. "I wished I could help in the camp with a healing spell or two. Not that I'm really good at them. They're more of Daphne's strong point."

"Would that happen to be Daphne Pinegrew?"

"You know her?" Hermione wondered open-mouthed.

"I heard about her." She asked with a smirk: "you know that there are African members in the ICW, don't you? We're living in Africa, not behind the moon. Even around here we heard about you and your friends. However, I have to admit I didn't expect to ever meet you personally."

Hermione had the decency to blush, but her expression turned into a frown about the last sentence. "I thought you expected me? Jerome said something like that."

"Did he now?" She glared at him, which Jerome weathered with a grin. Meryem sighed: "I expected the water bringer, not especially Hermione Granger."

"Am I both?"

Meryem shrugged. "I think so. Sheikh Malak firmly believes it. He'll know as soon as he meets you."

Hermione looked around, searching like wondering where this Sheikh was hiding.

"He isn't here at the moment," Meryem answered her unspoken question. "He'll return this evening from a visit to one of the other Baggara tribes."

"Baggara?" Hermione looked cute with her forehead in wrinkles. "I read about them. They're cow herdsmen… nomads, aren't they?"

"More or less," Meryem agreed. "They're partially settling these days. They're my people."

"You don't look like them. You more look like the people I saw in Cairo and Luxor."

"You were in Luxor?" Meryem asked happily. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Before she had a chance to get too excited about it, Jerome stopped her with a little cough. "Ah, yes, back to your question. I'm actually Egyptian, but I left the country around World War two. Since then Jerome and I stayed with the Baggara."

The simple sounding statement was staggering in its meaning. To think that they had been living here for around half a century, more or less since Grindelwald rampaged all around Europe, and thinking that it was only a smaller part of her life… Hermione felt very small right now. "How… how old are you really?"

"You don't ask a lady such a question," Meryem mocked. Jerome snickered at the 'lady' comment. "Don't listen to him," Meryem glared at her husband. "He's still assuming he'll sleep in our tent tonight." That actually got Jerome silent and looking repentant. "He's still assuming he'll get some blanket action tonight." Now he was actually pouting.

Hermione grinned. She liked them, both of them. They were nothing like she expected people like them to be… people…

"I noticed your eyes."

Meryem sighed. "I assumed you did."

"Are you some kind of… I don't know… Werecat?" She made a scratching motion with her claw-formed hand.

"A Werecat?" Meryem repeated the motion with a playful grin. "I'm so much more than that." Before Hermione's eyes, Meryem went down on all four, her skin turning into a soft, golden fur, her hands and feet turning into big paws with terrifying claws. In the end a glorious lioness was standing there, tail and all. Allowing Hermione to admire her for a while, she turned back just as Hermione actually felt the urge to scratch her between the ears. "Only look, don't touch," Meryem admonished her. "I'm no pussy cat." _No, she wasn't_. Hermione saw a fearsome warrioress in her eyes. "Did this answer your question?"

"In a way, yes," Hermione agreed. For a moment she thought back. Balou had been eager to accompany her together with Crooks. They had decided against it. Muggles weren't easy on animals shuffled around and it was way too hot for a little cat. However, seeing this strange woman, Hermione wasn't so certain anymore about her decision.

"Good," Meryem turned towards her plants again. "As much as I like to speak with you, I still have much to do today. Perhaps you could stay with Jerome. He's a slacker anyhow."

"Hey," Jerome objected not very convincingly. "Not everybody can get his work done with a wave of her hand. I work with my brain, thank you very much."

"Whatever," Meryem grinned. Turning to Hermione she warned her: "be prepared to meet Sheikh Malak tonight. He's a good but proud man, only interested in the welfare of his people. Be polite, don't get cheeky but behave with confidence. He needs your help as much as you do his."

"His help?" Hermione wondered.

Meryem raised an eyebrow in mock surprise: "you don't actually expect the Sudanese military to get your father back, do you?"

.

_**Sheikh Malak**_

_Why hadn't she thought about that before?_ It was certainly reasonable to assume that someone like the leader of this tribe would not only know about the abduction but certainly know the abductors as well. Perhaps he would be able to influence them? Jerome promised that the tribe hadn't been part of it. That didn't mean they couldn't help.

An hour ago a Range Rover returned to the camp. Hermione had mocked herself for somehow assuming the Sheikh's return would be something from an Arabian fantasy film, with him riding on a black stallion, an old rifle on his back and a sabre at his side, with a dozen loud warriors following him. Yes, there had been warriors. There had been weapons. However, they wore SMG's and long knives instead of 19th Century antiquities. One of the warriors dragged a mobile radio into one of the tents and Hermione was certain to have seen a flak jacket under the Sheikh's wide, billowing vestments.

Now she was following one of the younger warriors, a polite but haughty man, not unlike Khaled, to the main tent. Around a dozen people were sitting in there, with the Sheikh at the most prominent position. He was in his early sixties, with intelligent, dark eyes and a close cropped beard, grey mingling into the black hair. To his right a younger man was watching Hermione closely, who could only be his son. On the Sheikh's left, Meryem greeted her with a curt nod, while Jerome, sitting at his wife's side, was the only one who actually smiled and offered her a seat.

For a moment Hermione hesitated. She felt something coming from the Sheikh and his son, something she had sensed only a few times in the past. Neville was like this, Monsieur Delacour and Brychan Camwy. However, Sheikh Malak felt the closest to what she sensed around Harry: fire elemental magic. He seemed to sense it too in her, according to the short tensing of his expression.

Hermione bowed towards the Sheikh.

"I thank you for your hospitality, Sheikh Malak," she repeated the words Jerome had told her.

"The tribe of the Asim is honoured to have you as its guest," he responded with the traditional greeting formula. Jerome had explained that 'Asim' meant something like 'protectors' and that his response would ascertain her safety in the camp as well as in the area around. To attack her while her stay in Darfur would mean to offend the whole tribe.

She had wondered if she would need the gift Jerome had bestowed on her, the gift of understanding some Arabic. Hermione assumed it was something like reverse Legilimency, to speak a word and send its meaning to her mind. A conversation would still be very difficult, despite her knowing a few dozen phrases now and nearly two hundred Arabian words – she had actually counted them, and made a list. Luckily the Sheikh was fluent in English as was his son.

The next thirty minutes belonged to the hardest Hermione ever experienced. The Sheikh was exchanging pleasantries with her, speaking about the tea and meal, and asking about her voyage and how she liked Darfur so far. The whole time she felt the urge to ask about her father, but Jerome had warned her to allow the Sheikh to define the pace. The whole time she tried to be polite but honest. She spoke about the weather, so different from her home. She told about the people she met. There was this one moment however, were the discussion got heated, not with him but with his son Salim.

"Woman can't fight. They have to stay at home and rear the children. It is an important duty, the most important perhaps. Why endanger them with something the men could do in their stead? Men can fight, they can't bear children."

Hermione glared but Jerome's gentle hand's squeeze stopped her.

"My son is still young," Sheikh Malak patiently explained. "He has never seen the lioness fight. Female warriors are very rare among my people and in a way Salim is right: it should be an exception. Women are to be protected, honoured and cherished. They are Allah's most precious gift to us. A mother is present at our birth, a wife gives us those hours that make our life worth living and if we're lucky a loving daughter will be at our side and holding our hand when we'll die. However, there are exceptions. Meryem is one of them. My great grandmother Shadana allegedly won the hand of my great grandfather through beating him in a sabre contest of the tribe. And then there is you," he scrutinized Hermione now. "Tell me, Hermione Granger, are you a warrioress?"

"Yes, I am," she responded calmly. "Not by choice but by fate, to protect those I love, to help those who are too weak to fight for themselves. I would love to help in other ways but sometimes only fire and sword can be the weapons of choice."

Malak actually smiled shortly at her use of the word fire. "So you sensed it?"

"As you did, Sheikh Malak," Hermione agreed with a curt bow of her head. She glanced around like guessing if they could be trusted with such knowledge.

"They know as did their fathers," Malak answered her unspoken question. He made a small gesture, his son repeating it swiftly and within a second small flames were burning in their open palms. "It is a gift running in my family, inherited from father to son since… for a very long time."

Hermione responded in kind. She took an empty bowl and created water in it with a wave of her hand. It wasn't anything more than what an Aguamenti could accomplish, but it still was something completely different. With another wave of her hand, she commanded the water to stir from the bowl. It slowly grew into something like a cat or lion. Certainly they assumed it to be Meryem but actually it was more like Balou. It started to move around like hunting a mice, before it sat back and lifted its right paw to clean it. After a while the cat curled up and Hermione dissolved it into normal water again.

"The Sun told of your arrival since they birth of my granddaughter Yasmine," Sheikh Malak explained. Hermione had met the little girl. Yasmine was a very sweet and spirited girl. Shyness wasn't part of her personality and Hermione wondered if she inherited some traits from her ancestor Shadana. _She's around five years old. That would have been around the time I entered Hogwarts for the first time_. "We have been waiting since then."

Hermione gulped. This reminded her far too much of the prophecy that destroyed Harry's life, destroyed the life of his parents. Could it be…?

"Do others know of this prophecy too? Is this the reason for the abduction of my father?"

"Many know about it. Naturally not that you're Hermione Granger but about the arrival of the water bringer. The news of your first miracle spread like wildfire."

_My first miracle?_ Hermione wondered. "The fountain?" _Good deeds don't go unpunished_.

"The fountain," Malak nodded gravely. "They started digging where you told them. They found water. This one village will fare better next year than in the years before. Your arrival perhaps already saved lives."

"This still doesn't answer my question," Hermione reminded him somewhat harshly. "Was this prophecy the reason for my father's abduction?"

"Your fate was the reason. Because of your fate to be the water bringer, your father came into our land to help my people. Because of your fate, you made the voyage to visit him. Because he was abducted, you came into my camp."

"And what will you do now? What do you expect me to do? What will you do to help my father?"

"I expect you to follow your fate," was the unhelpful answer.

"I can't stay here. My friends need me," Hermione pleaded.

"You know," the Sheikh started to explain with a slow voice. "I could blackmail you with your father's life." Hermione paled. Only the supportive expressions of Meryem and Jerome prevented her from fainting or screaming. "I could tell you how much I have to risk to get him free. I would risk the lives of my warriors. I would risk my reputation and position, when negotiating with a warlord of the Fur tribe. However, your father's fate does not only concern you. He came into my land to help my people. He deserves more than to be a chess piece in this game. You'll get him back, alive and healthy, as well as the other abductees."

"Thank you," was the only thing Hermione was able to say.

"However, we still need your help. Please have a good look while staying here. See my people and their destitution. Think about what good you could do around here." He glanced towards Meryem. "I don't expect you to live with us as Meryem and Jerome did. A few dozen fountains would help both tribes, Fur and Baggara so much, it would lessen the tensions between us and perhaps avoid a war that is dawning at the horizon. Find others with your gift among my people and teach them."

_Teach others? Find others with my gift and teach them_.

"Suha," Hermione whispered.

"What?" Sheikh Malak asked in obvious confusion.

"A few days ago, near the airport, I met a young girl. Her name was Suha. I felt something about her. I think she has water magic too."

The group erupted into a heated discussion, regretfully in Arabic. Despite Jerome's help, Hermione wasn't really able to follow them. After a while the discussion died down and the Sheikh addressed Hermione again.

"We'll find her but we'll leave her alone until your return."

He seemed to be certain about that return, but honestly Hermione had no doubt that he was right. Perhaps it was years from now but she would return. How could she not? These people needed help, a help only someone like her could bestow. She had to learn about her hidden talent, learn how to use water magic. She would return to this country, find others and teach them.

_Help them to help themselves_, it was the basic principle of real support.

She could do this. She would do this. What was it that Harry said? This isn't about Britain anymore. It's not only about wizards and witches, but also about Werewolves, Goblins and Muggles. Yes, she could help Werewolves and it was still important to her, but it was something others could as well. Severus Snape could, with a little financial backup and scientific help from the Congregation, research a cure. Harry, Sirius and Remus would certainly be able, with the help of Amos Diggory and Amelia Bones, to change the laws. This however was something only she could accomplish. Finding a dozen other water witches, teaching them how to find water, perhaps even how to make better use of it, how to gather it more efficiently and preserve it after the summer rain, would save hundreds if not thousands of lives.

Hermione wasn't certain about this prophecy or all of this being her 'fate'. She hoped it wasn't her destiny to travel around from one desert to the next to do her little rain dance. However, she could live very well for over a hundred years and was willing to spend some of them doing this. _Perhaps I can convince Neville to accompany me_, she mused. _With his earth magic there would be completely new possibilities. We could create stone caverns to preserve the water after the rain falls_. She had research to do. Her expression turned thoughtful and Jerome grinned, saying something to Sheikh Malak.

"I think you got yourself a water bringer."

.

_**A/N**_

_This ends the African interlude more or less. Next time we'll return to the main plot again and go visit Europe._


	5. Chapter 5 I'm baaack!

_**A/N**_

_A little warning: The part about the Crosner family (see below) won't be nice. I mean it. _

**.**

**I'm baaack!**

.

_**Reading the Book – part 1**_

.

_Today was a bad day. Not the worst, not even among the top ten or twenty, but nonetheless a very bad one._

_The Potters died tonight. I expected it to happen but still the news hit me hard. Despite all the years of fighting for the Light, despite all atrocities I witnessed in the past, the sight of the dead bodies of dear friends isn't something you could ever get used to. Not that I wished such a thing to happen. This kind of emotional hardening is unhealthy. Feeling makes you human in the end. You have to control your emotions, not destroy them. _

_James – he had been a good friend and staunch supporter his whole and far too short life. Never asking, always obeying. Yes, he was a jokester and a prankster but in the end he always did what I wanted him to do. He never seriously objected, unlike some others among my henchmen. I had to keep Severus away from him but aside from this little nuisance James was the perfect follower. It didn't hurt that he was even more generous with his financial support than anyone could have expected him to be. I deeply regret his death. Wherever you are, James: I'm certain we'll meet again. Know that your sacrifice didn't count for nothing._

_Lily – she had been a difficult one from the start. Since our first meeting she asked too many questions, and had far too many thoughts of her own. Her world view was too black and white. It sometimes it was helpful, as it allowed me to separate her from Severus and attach her to someone more worthy of her talent. The Potter family needed fresh blood, especially such strong one. So she had been perfect. One the other hand, her mind, very down to earth in some ways, has never been able to accept some of my more morally questionable manoeuvres and tactics. Far too long did she stand firmly at Severus' side; far too long did she prevent my plan to position him close to Tom from succeeding. Only now, after her death and therefore the end of her interference, will I be able to permanently change a few of his more important memories. Oh Lily, why did you have to conciliate with him? Couldn't you see that Severus always was beyond redemption? _

_But Harry – most of all it is Harry I feel regret about. His life won't be easy but at least it will be short. Fifteen years, twenty at most, I wouldn't expect him to last more. I have to make certain that his childhood will shape him to my liking. I've achieved the first stepping stone towards that goal tonight. Sirius was already angry enough, eager to hunt the traitor down and ridden with guilt about his part in the whole deathly affair. A little compulsion charm was all I needed to have him chase the rat instead of convincing Hagrid to leave Harry in his care as Lily always wanted. In a few weeks, when all the tumult has died down, I'll visit the Dursleys myself and ascertain that Petunia handles him like she is supposed to. Harry can't grow up spoilt and big-headed. He has to be timid and steerable, and foremost thankful to have a caring grandfather in his life. I should have him meet the Weasleys. Molly would be a perfect mother figure in his life – and far more trustworthy than Lily. Hasn't she just given birth to another boy Harry's age, some Robert or else? I'll have a look into it._

_Yes, today was a bad day, but better days will follow. In a way it's like Minerva's family all over again. At least this time I don't have to act like a caring consoler. It was time-consuming and nerve-wracking enough the last time._

.

The small hands put the book down. He had opened the diary on that special date – Halloween 1981 – on a whim after finding nothing about possible hiding places or other more current information. What he found was worse than he expected, even if it was only proof of what they had always suspected. Only the part about Minerva – his small hands trembled. It couldn't be. Albus couldn't…

_Should I read more? Should I search for entries about those times?_

He feared he would find exactly what his mind imagined right now, proof that the pictures in his mind weren't pure delusions. Despite not wanting to know, or his urge to simply burn the books he found in the secret cache, he knew what he had to do. He had to search and read it all; he had to know. He wouldn't be able to sleep otherwise.

Perhaps he wouldn't be able to sleep if he read anyway.

.

_**Crosner Family Home – Part 1**_

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"I'm baaack!"

His happy greeting was only answered by a dark silence.

"Darling?"

Still nothing, this was weird. Putting his briefcase down on the side board near the door, and draping his cloak on the clothes rack, he went farther into the house in search of his family. David Crosner belonged to an old but unimportant pureblood family. He had been disowned by his racist father – poor as dirt but haughty like a Malfoy – for marrying his school crush, the Muggleborn witch Isabel Thornton. She wasn't rich or overly good-looking, and her laugh was too shrill – but by Merlin did he love her. Isabel made him smile, feel appreciated despite his shortcomings and she gave him the most precious gifts in the world: their two children.

Jason, nine years old and a spitting image of his father, would start at Hogwarts in two years. He was clever, brave and a joy to have around. He had his first bout of accidental magic at four and his mother started to teach him two years ago.

His younger sister Maddy, on the other hand, hadn't shown any signs of magic so far despite turning seven two months ago. David loved her nonetheless. He certainly wasn't about to disown her like his parents would have done. After much discussion the Crosners decided to send both children to a Muggle primary school. They fared fairly well so far, with Maddy being far more diligent, and David hoped that Maddy wouldn't miss her brother too badly after his departure to Hogwarts. He would try his best to keep the siblings close and avoid any fits of jealousy. It wouldn't be easy but he would still aim for this. He had watched too many families ripped apart because of magical world view issues.

"Maddy? Jason? Where…"

He entered the dining room of the medium-sized family home and stopped cold as he noticed the four people waiting for him. Sitting at the dining table were his wife and two children along with a fourth person, a woman in her forties or fifties. Thick-boned was a nice way to describe her; plump was a more honest one. She wore black robes and while her hair was black too, it was painfully obvious that she had used magic to change the colour. Equally obvious was her lack of talent in performing beauty spells. Isabel wouldn't allow herself to get caught with such a disaster on her head. The woman had a wobbly face and her mouth was too big, giving her a toad-like appearance.

"Hello, David," she greeted him with a cackling voice. "We have already been waiting for you. Please have a seat."

"Isabel…" He started to address his wife only to notice her tear-stained face. His children didn't look any better, Maddy was silently sobbing. Both children appeared to be terrified by the woman's presence. "What happened?"

"Have a seat," the woman demanded more forceful.

"You," David narrowed his eyes, realization dawning in his mind as he imagined her with a different hair colour. "I've seen your picture in the newspaper." A shudder went down his spine. _Dangerous maniac_ had been the catch-line above her picture.

"You may call me Bella," she smiled sweetly. Neither the smile nor the mad glint in her eyes did anything to sooth him.

"Bella? But aren't you…" The name was wrong, completely wrong.

"Sit down," the smile left her face and she pointed her wand toward him. For a moment David wanted to go for his own wand, but he was no fighter. He was a little sales person in a big Muggle shop as he wanted to avoid any troubles with his family and their friends, entering the magical world only if he absolutely had to. So he obeyed, fruitlessly trying to ignore his wife's defeated groan and the look of disappointment from his son.

"Fantastic," the woman giggled. The speed of her mood swings made him queasy. This woman was certainly very dangerous, smiling and joking one moment only to hex him in the next.

"What do you want?" David asked her hoarsely.

"Me? A little hospitality for a start," she answered sweetly. "I still didn't get any tea or cookies."

"Maddy," Isabel raised her voice, only to be interrupted by the mad woman.

"Not her, not the worthless squib. She would dirty my cookies."

Instantly tears shot into Maddy's eyes. "Don't speak to her…" David stood up and roared.

"Expelliarmus! Incarcerous!" Her madness did nothing to slow her down and within seconds David found himself unarmed and unable to move. "Don't raise your voice against me, Blood-traitor."

David paled. He had feared to hear these words for years, feared them to be the last ones before some Death Eater killed him. How stupid he had been to believe that the danger was over now.

"Please," Isabel begged.

"Please what, little Mudblood?"

"Don't call my mother this disgusting name," Jason jumped to his mother's defence. He was old enough to have been warned by his parents about what others would think of their small happy family. He knew exactly what those insults meant and he didn't like them one bit. How could anybody not love his mother and sister?

The mad woman sighed and shook her head in disappointment. "David, David, David, I expected better from you. Haven't you taught your son anything? I really hoped you would see reason. With this creature," she gestured towards Maddy "blemishing your family, you should have seen that your father had been right from the start. Marrying a Mudblood is unnatural and disgusting, David. Now you apparently started corrupting your son, too."

"You know my parents?" He asked hoarsely. His parents hated him but they wouldn't send a maniac killer into his house, would they?

"Yes, your dear Uncle Jebediah," she nodded. "We went to school together. He was heart-broken to hear about your betrayal and disgusted when he learned about the scum that was tainting the family line." She glared at Maddy. Actually she had met Jebediah Crosner months ago, when she spoke with him about his family and the disgrace of his nephew. Now, in need of a place to hide, she had remembered those talks and decided to use the moment to teach this dirty family a severely needed lesson.

"Leave my sister alone, you ugly cow," Jason screamed, running around the table to his sister's side. David knew instantly that this had been the wrong thing to say.

The woman's eyes hardened. "Do you love your little sister?"

"I do," he nodded wildly. He hugged her in his best big brother mode. Maddy looked up to her older brother with pleading eyes.

The woman looked very sad. "She isn't worth it, Jason. Don't you see it? It's bad enough that you have a Mudblood for a mother but at least you have magic. You can still be a worthy part of our society, but not her, she never will." She stared at the little girl like she was something dirty stuck under her shoe, something one had to carefully get rid of not to besmirch the carpet.

"Maddy is worth ten of you," Jason pouted.

Her glare turned ice cold now. "Incarcerous!" She strengthened the bindings around David and did the same to Isabel. "Your father should have taught you better. It's time for a little lesson, Jason."

"Leave him…"

"Silencio!" She actually smiled now while David tried to yell and scream, without a single word leaving his mouth. "That's far better."

"You have no right…" Jason started only to be stopped by a heavy slap that knocked him down. His lip was split and blood trickled down his chin.

"I'm Bellatrix LeStrange; I have every right," she snarled. "And far more importantly I have the duty to step in and end this blasphemy." David and Isabel struggled with their bindings but to no avail. Their eyes widened in horror as the woman which called herself Bellatrix LeStrange left the table, walked to the cupboard and started to rummage between the cutleries. Jason, anticipating that something really bad was going to happen, and dragged his little sister towards the door, but was unable to open it. It simply wouldn't budge.

"It's not very nice to simply go away, Jason, when you're entertaining guests." She now had a long knife in her hand, one meant to slice roast. Jason pushed his sister behind his back, his big eyes not wavering from the knife: "Time for your lesson, little Jason."

.

_**Reading the Book – part 2**_

.

_Promoting Minerva to be my Deputy and second-in-command within the Order has been one of my wisest decisions so far. Today she proved her worth all over again. Unlike me, she has the patience to make the school run smoothly. Organizing the schedules, making staff and students happy and content, and being polite even to annoying house-elves and filthy Centaurs – there are far too many benefits about her doing those chores to make note of them all. _

_Despite her young age, she has many useful contacts among other schools, as well as researchers all over Europe and among Ministry officials. Most of the younger Aurors have been her students. Most of the older Aurors and many Unspeakables went to school with her. While some of the older wizards and witches out there haven't forgotten that I wasn't always Grindelwald's foe, none of them could doubt Minerva's upstanding morals. Her unwavering support of my decisions has been more helpful than twenty sycophants singing my praises. _

_Her Animagus form is very useful for reconnaissance, especially combined with her inborn patience. Good senses and unobtrusive appearance – only flying would be more helpful, outdoors at least. I have to admit that her grasp of Transfiguration magic is better than my own, despite all the decades I have over her. While my knowledge is broader, she simply has this natural 'Sense' that allows her to feel magic and adapt it to the task at hand. It's a gift, really, a gift I intend to make use of. _

_Today we corrected some smaller things around the castle, improving the defences and ironing out small faults that slipped in over the course of the years. Apparently there hasn't been a gifted Transfigurator among the Headmasters for a long time. Perhaps it is because Transfiguration and Politics don't get along very well. Minerva too wouldn't be a good Headmistress. Her mind is too Cartesian and too straightforward. I'll have to look for an appropriate successor in time. Regretfully neither Slughorn nor Flitwick will be appropriate choices either; the former because he is a Slytherin, the latter because he isn't human. However, I'm not overly concerned. I shall find someone in time._

_Still: Minerva was a very good choice and I can't lose her._

.

_Last chance to stop reading_, he thought. This wasn't very nice reading already. From now it could only get worse.

_Who am I kidding?_ He sighed with mock humour_. I couldn't stop now even if Albus paid me._

His small hands flipped the pages.

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_**Darfur**_

.

Three days. She had to wait three unimaginable long, nerve-wrecking days for any news about her father. Jerome had somehow organized some daily communication with her mother, while Hermione stayed with the couple. Under other conditions she would have loved those three days.

Jerome had spent as much time as possible with her. He had an intellect comparable to her own and spent the greater part of two centuries gathering knowledge of all kind, if heavily leaning on the history side. Over time he had somehow gathered university degrees from the Sorbonne in Paris, some smaller but respected Oxford College as well as the Al-Azhar University in Cairo. He even showed her a picture with him, being an assistant teacher in Cairo back then, meeting none else than Lawrence of Arabia. "He was very different from the picture shown in the cinematics."

The most impressive however was the range of his language skills. He was fluent in at least twenty new and old languages and knew how to read a dozen more. Because of his special gift whose nature Hermione still didn't understand in the slightest, she was now nearly fluent in Arabic – at least regarding every-day topics as well as history and medicine, the latter one because they very often accompanied Meryem at work.

Meryem had neither the time nor the patience to indulge Hermione like this. However, she had no qualms about making good use of her healing spells, her potion knowledge and the girl's baffling ability to gain the trust of the smaller patients. The adults mostly kept their distance, a mix of distrust and hope in their eyes, wanting to believe that their leader's faith in the girl was well-founded. The children however had no qualms altogether in getting close to her. It was very rare to find Hermione without a little girl on her lap sharing some sweet or a bunch of boys gathered around listening to a story. Once she had asked Jerome and Meryem about children of their own. The answer had been stunning.

"Meryem and I can't have children. Despite her appearance she's not like you and I, not completely human and regretfully our DNAs are too different to be compatible."

"However, Jerome has children," Meryem added. On Hermione's confused look, she continued: "in my culture it wasn't too unusual to be with several women at the same time. While Jerome only married me, he had some… liaisons… since our marriage."

"And you're okay with that?" Hermione asked in wonder. She wouldn't like the idea of sharing Neville with anyone.

Meryem shrugged. "I'm not too happy about it, but his family line is more important. And it's not his fault that we can't have children together." She smiled sadly. "It's not the first time in my life that I had to accept something like this – it's the reality of life."

"You were married before?"

"Several times," Meryem nodded. "Actually," she grinned and for a moment Jerome appeared somewhat uneasy "I was even married twice to a member of Jerome's family way back. Perhaps it will happen again in the future."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Wow… I mean… wow."

"Yeah, it was really amazing indeed, especially with Nachtar," Meryem smiled thoughtfully. "He could do things with his tongue…"

"Meryem," Jerome interrupted her daydreams. "Hermione is far too young to hear such things."

"Pish-posh, she's old enough. I had my first lover at thirteen. My mother and aunts made sure of that."

Hermione's face had a nice Weasley-red shade right now. "Ehm, yes. But how did it end? I mean, I thought…" she pointed towards Jerome.

"Because of the longevity?" Meryem asked. Hermione nodded. "Jerome is still aging, if very slowly. However, his mind isn't meant to stay sane forever, no human mind is. After a while humans lose their will to live, they become demented or insane." Meryem patted Jerome's hand, her expression turning sad. "We had two wonderful centuries together and I hope we'll have another two, but one day he will have to leave me."

Hermione suddenly felt incredible sad. To find love, to stay together for such a long time, knowing that your love would end one day, that you would survive your partner…

"Enough of this sappy small talk," Jerome interrupted her dark thoughts. "Meryem, you had a gift for our guest."

"Ah, yes, you're right," Meryem started to rummage through her belongings. In the end she produced a small figurine. It was a cat but of the Egyptian sort. "You have two cats in your life," she simply stated, surprising Hermione with her knowledge. "I felt it in your aura. Being the lion princess has its perks."

Hermione's face split into a grin. "You're right. There is Crookshanks. He's my very special fur-ball, a half-Kneazle, incredible intelligent and very good at judging characters. He's lazy, ravenous and a prankster – and he's always there when I need moral support. The other tomcat in my life is Balou. He belongs to Daphne and is her familiar. He's a little rogue cat-anizer."

"Sounds about right to me," Meryem grinned, pushing the little figurine into Hermione's hands. "This is about Crookshanks." Meryem looked thoughtful. "The race of Kneazles has originally been created as friends for witches given at their birth, and staying with them for their whole life. While not real familiars, bound to their mistress through magical rituals, they are fairly close to the witch they choose to live with. Some of them even developed some kind of emotional connection, a very basic kind of language. Treated affectionately they'll never leave you, but they also rarely survive their mistress' death for long. This figurine is a chance, an option, but not one for you to decide. It will be Crookshank's choice whether to make use of it or not."

"What will happen if he does?" Hermione asked, eying the figurine worriedly.

"He'll turn into a full Kneazle. His life expectancy will increase to compare to your own and his appearance will change a bit."

Hermione stared open-mouthed and completely flabbergasted. "I never heard about such a thing. I didn't know something like this could be possible."

"With my dear wife involved, nearly everything is possible, at least regarding cats," Jerome grinned.

Hermione nodded slowly, her eyes on the figurine again. _I'm anxious to see what Crooks thinks about this little present._

.

_**Reading the Book – part 3**_

.

_I really don't like him. _

_Elphinstone Urquardt – the name itself is a mess. The man is not much better. He's like an experiment gone wrong by throwing Minerva's worst traits and increasing them tenfold. Yes, he has courage and intellect, I'll give him that. However, he also possesses this uptight morality and blasted integrity. He's a staunch critic of Barty Crouch – an opinion I could share with Barty's willingness to use even the darkest spells in persecuting Tom's followers – but he regretfully transfers this into questioning my leading style. I have no doubt that he wouldn't hesitate a single moment to drag me into court should he ever hear of some of my plans and past actions. Isn't it better to use Legilimency, Compulsion and Memory Charms on your foes than to maim and kill your opponents? He wouldn't concur, small-minded man that he is._

_In the beginning I was happy for Minerva. She certainly deserved her own bit of happiness, her small world of middle class bliss to get away from the darkness out there. She sacrificed so much already, a few hours each week with her man could certainly be endured and allowed to happen. However, how did he thank me for my generosity? Did he accept that my need for Minerva's energy and time was greater than his own? Did he accept that my generosity wasn't equitable to allowing him to have an opinion on her activities in the Order? No, he's rather acting like a spoilt brat – always demanding, always knowing better than anyone, even me. _

_A few days ago another problem arose. Since Minerva got hurt, Urquardt has been nagging her about her safety. I tried to ignore him so far, but he apparently started to speak to Minerva about leaving the Order. He's actually trying to drive a wedge between her and the Order and especially me. I can't allow this to happen. I need her at my side. Even disregarding her worth as my administrator and soldier, her leaving the Order would be a serious blow to the overall moral. More than a fourth of the current members joined because of her. Urquardt is absolutely going too far with this move. I have to stop him before he erases the work of several years. _

_I have to think about ways to separate him from Minerva. _

_Perhaps there are ways to take him out of the picture. It could even improve Minerva's will to combat if done right._

_I have to think about it. That damned man!_

.

He remembered the weeks after Urquardt's death. Minerva had been floored; her will to live had been crushed. If 'He' really had a hand in those events… should I tell her? Would it help her? She has a reason to know but still…

_Damned that man!_

.

_**Ottery St. Catchpole**_

.

For the first time since Arthur Weasley moved into the cosy house lying between those of the Lovegood and Diggory families, it was teeming with people. Ginny and the twins had returned from Hogwarts, which would be the last time for the twins.

Arthur was more than a bit proud about their NEWTs. With the incentive of Harry's and Daphne's offer, each of them accomplished four NEWTs with 'EE's or 'O's. In return they got a total of 2,000 galleons from the couple with another 1,000 galleons given by Emma Granger for a 10% share in name of her daughter.

"_I'm certain she'll love to help you with your future inventions from time to time and I expect you to be successful. See it as some kind of investment."_

Remembering the potion book they got from Hermione and Daphne a year ago, and noticing how much the formerly slightly uptight girl had relaxed thanks to a special Hufflepuff, the twins had no qualms to accept the offer. They were already in negotiations with a landlord about renting a shop in Diagon Alley and soon would fully enter the wizarding work force as businessmen. Arthur had no doubts that they would make their way but he admitted to be relieved about their upstanding exams.

Ginny looked far calmer than months before and only the prospect of seeing her mother and no-longer brother curbed her mood a bit. Unlike Harry and his friends, she still had one year to go until her OWLs and hoped that Professor McGonagall had been impressed enough to make her Prefect once again.

Even Charlie and Bill returned and joined Percy, who had been living alone with his father for the last months, apart from those Hogsmeade weekends he had used to prove to Penelope that he really had changed. So far he had done a good job at that. The good comments Penelope got from Amos Diggory via his son Cedric about Percy's behaviour at work had certainly helped – not that Percy knew about them.

With Molly and Ron allowed to visit the house on this sunny day, the whole Weasley family was gathered for the first time again. The mood was a bit weird, with most Weasleys trying to behave normally and failing utterly. Molly was far too hyped-up, completely in overdrive to smother her children. Charlie kept his distance from her as he still hadn't forgiven her part in Ginny's suicide attempt. Mostly he kept to his baby sister and shielded her, feeling that her confidence was mostly for show. The twins tried to ignore their brother Ron but at least forgot for one day too that he wasn't their brother anymore. However the big pink elephant in the room of him being disowned by four of his siblings still made his silent rounds through the dining room.

Right now, Ginny was reading a letter and completely unaware of her family around. "A letter from him again?" George asked sourly, while Fred stared accusingly at his sister. In a very adult manner Ginny stuck out her tongue and continued to read, a sigh escaping her lips and her eyes dreamy.

"A letter from whom, dear?" Molly asked, hoping that it was from someone acceptable. So far her daughter hadn't shown much taste in possible boyfriends.

Ginny looked thoughtful, her eyes narrowed. For a moment it appeared she wouldn't answer in a nice way but a pleading look from her father made her comply. "It's from Cedric Diggory."

Molly smiled broadly. "Cedric is a nice boy, good pureblood family." She nodded to her own words. "He certainly has manners and behaves like a gentleman."

"He better will," George growled.

"George," Ginny scolded him.

Fred shrugged with a wicked grin. "We told him to behave when he asked our permission to write to you."

"Why didn't he ask me?" Ron asked. He got only a 'are you serious?' look in return.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "He's done with his NEWTs, George. I won't see much of him aside from Hogsmeade here and there. So don't you bug him." She looked furious enough to make the twins nervous.

"It's our job to care of you," Fred dared to say.

Before Ginny had a chance to react, George added sadly: "we failed you once, we won't do it again."

Instantly Ginny relaxed again and her furious expression softened. "I know, George. I know you won't."

.

"Dad, how long do you think they'll need to find Dumbledore?" Charlie asked after a while. The Weasleys had behaved and the afternoon had been calm if a bit tense so far. Now he intended to throw a few small stones into the pond and wait for the piranhas to make an appearance. He didn't trust his mother's change for one moment and was certain that his father's hope to somehow have a chance at making up with Molly was futile.

"It's Professor Dumbledore," Molly reflexively corrected. She didn't notice the look the twins exchanged. Ron's presence – despite him barely uttering ten words so far – was grinding on their nerves. They only endured him because of their mother. Apparently it was time for her to show her true colours.

"Since he disappeared, there haven't been any news," Arthur responded. He felt very sad right now. While Molly behaved so far, he hadn't noticed any signs of her having changed her ways or views, or even having acknowledged her past wrong-doings.

"At Shacklebolt's request Headmaster Flitwick started perusing his papers. They hope he'll find some indications as to places he could be hiding," Bill explained. He had been helping by disarming the wards and noticed how troubled Flitwick had been for the last few days. Apparently he found something, or several things, disturbing there.

Molly snarled. She still found it wrong to make Flitwick Headmaster, and thought about it as some kind of betrayal. This news however was inacceptable. "It's wrong. He has no right to intrude in Professor Dumbledore's house."

"He shouldn't have bunked then," Bill shrugged.

Molly frowned unhappily. "He only wanted to avoid being forced to kill Augusta. This whole trial-matter should never have happened. He did nothing wrong."

"Didn't you listen to the testimony?" Bill wondered, while Charlie leant back and smiled thinly, watching and enjoying the show as his mother hastened to dig her own grave. She didn't disappoint him.

"They were falsified, I'm certain of it. It's all a big misunderstanding, a conspiracy to slander Albus. I'm certain those Greengrass bitches started it to help their Snake-lord." She was slightly fuming now, spittle running down her chin while her whole family – apart from Ron who continued eating cake and was completely disinterested in the whole matter – stared at her, open-eyed and disgusted.

Bill blinked. He had known that his mother had her very own world view but this was… intense. "He instigated the attack on the Longbottoms. He's to blame for them having to stay at St. Mungo's all those years. He messed with Neville's magic. I'm certain he did much more but Lady Longbottom is more than right to blame him for that alone."

"Nonsense." Molly responded completely unconvinced by Bill's words.

"We'll see the truth," Charlie sneered. "At the trial of grievance we'll see who was right, and who was wrong."

"And I'll be sitting near Harry," Ginny glared.

"Cheering for Lady Longbottom," the twins approved in unison.

Shocked by the hate her children openly showed, Molly still stood firm to her 'Master of the Greater Good'. "Yes, you all will see the truth. Albus will prove them wrong and you will have to apologize."

Arthur sighed silently. There was really no hope for Molly anymore. He should have known.

.

_**Reading the Book – part 4**_

.

_I love it when a plan comes together._

_The first part had been surprisingly easy. Dedalus Diggle has always been a little weird. You could call him confused or perhaps demented, despite him not being in the appropriate age range to develop such a trait. With him leading the support team to the Auror forces under Urquardt, it was easy to leak the necessary information to the other side. A small number of Compulsion and Confundus spells was all I needed. Michael Rosier, Evan Rosier's younger brother, was more than eager to use the chance and prove his worth to his master as well as his own family. Poor Michael, he has always been in the shadow of his older, more talented and powerful brother. It's the fate of many brothers all over the world, wouldn't you agree, Aberforth?_

_With this part accomplished, I only had to wait for the trap to spring. Urquardt's team never had a chance, especially with Diggle waiting far too long to come to his assistance. He isn't a leader, especially not a military one, not enough initiative and decisiveness. These faults are nothing bad in itself. Good leaders rarely make good followers. He needed a few long minutes to decide what to do in this crisis._

_Naturally I accompanied him in this grave hour. _

_Naturally I was stricken with grief seeing the corpses of half a dozen Aurors lying on the ground, beaten and slashed open to bleed dry._

_Understandably I for once lost control and killed the Death Eater responsible for the massacre. _

_Michael Rosier won't ever be able to explain how he got the information about Urquardt's mission. A nice side-effect was the simple fact of Dedalus' guilt. It was nearly too easy to drive him into the worst case of self-reproach. I promised him to never tell Minerva about the matter et voila: he became even more loyal to me than ever before. _

_It's a little sad that five other Aurors had to die as well, but there was no way to kill only Urquardt without arousing any suspicions. This way it was left to bad luck and pure Death Eater viciousness. Barty is now looking for a spy among his Auror ranks. I have no doubt he'll find someone, if only to appease his critics. _

_Naturally the news of Urquardt's death hit Minerva very hard. She felt even worse when I killed the murderer Rosier, because the circumstances and my grief 'forced me to betray my moral principles'. In any case there won't be any more silly talk about leaving the Order. Minerva will stay at my side and the Order on the whole will only be more convinced than ever of the necessity of our fight._

_The Light will win, now and always._

.

_He killed him_. He couldn't really believe it.

_He built a trap, allowed their deaths to happen and eradicated any witnesses. He even guilt-trapped Dedalus and Minerva with the whole incident._

_He's horrible, he truly is_.

With shaking hands he continued to read, unable to stop now. He had the dark feeling that this wasn't the end of it.

.

_**Darfur**_

.

Five days. She had to wait five incredibly long, nerve-wrecking days for any news about her father.

Hermione snuggled into her father's chest, sighing happily. Sheikh Malak had kept his word. Hermione had no idea how he achieved it, what he had to promise, or what he had to barter in return, but on her fifth day in the camp the Sheikh and his men returned in company of her father and the other four abductees. They were exhausted, a bit underfed and dehydrated, but more or less alright. Apart from a few bruises they weren't injured and Hermione was incredible relieved to have him back.

Now they were driving back in three jeeps, Meryem at the steering wheel of theirs. To be honest, Hermione couldn't remember having ever seen – or more exactly: felt – a worse driver. Meryem had a sixth sense for ground wave and road holes, and hadn't missed a single one. But it was alright: she had her father back. Khaled was riding another car. He had arrived two days ago in the evening, all macho man and overprotective git that he was. The French Auror brought a letter from her mother, getting him a little brownie point from Hermione. However, he lost any favour with her very fast when he tried to convince her to return to the village – with words first but soon turning to yelling and dragging.

"_Leave her alone," a male and very cold voice stopped him, speaking French in an old-fashioned way. _

"_Shut up," Khaled sneered back, barely looking at Meryem and Jerome. "She's under my protection. I have to decide…"_

"_My husband said: leave her alone," Meryem interrupted him. She grabbed Khaled's wrist and forced him to let go of Hermione. Meryem looked far too slim to have this kind of strength, but obviously looks were deceiving. As Khaled tried to resist, Meryem enforced her grip a bit and brought him to his knees. His face twisted with pain. "Your protective instinct is laudable, but Hermione is under the protection of Sheikh Malak and the whole tribe. It is his right to offer her hospitality and Hermione accepted it. You on the other hand are only endured. Behave or we'll enforce your departure."_

He had been pouting for the rest of his stay and Hermione intended to speak of him with Altair, perhaps even write to his superiors. Now however, she wanted to enjoy her father's presence and warm embrace. She got him back, nothing else was important.

.

"Thank you, Meryem, for everything." Hermione said her farewell to the Arabic woman, clutching the figurine to her chest.

"It was a pleasure to meet you," Meryem responded, bowing slightly. "I'm certain we'll meet again."

Hermione smiled. She had no doubts about that. "You still won't tell me how old you are, will you?"

Meryem smiled. "You'll figure it out on your own." In an unexpected gesture she stepped forward and hugged the girl. "Enjoy the rest of your stay, Hermione."

"I will."

"And Hermione," Meryem finished the conversation with a weird gesture similar to a priest giving a blessing: "may Sechmet's blessing be with your union with Neville."

Jerome wiggled his eyes like he knew something but neither he nor Meryem explained the last part. They left Hermione behind, wondering if the blessing would have any kind of impact – the blessing of Sechmet who had been known among others as the patroness of fertility.

.

_**Two Oaks Inn – Northern Scotland**_

.

Jailor Pike gulped down the cheap booze to calm his nerves. Neither the "Two Oaks Inn", barely more than a cheap boozer, nor his company, was something he enjoyed. While he appeared to be only one more Scottish drunkard, there was no doubt about Antonin Dolohov's identity. He emanated an aura of cruelty that was hard to ignore; his cold eyes made it difficult to look him in the face and Pike tried his best to pretend to keep an eye on the door and the other guests.

He had been working in Azkaban for more than two decades now. It was where he met Lucius Malfoy for the first time and accepted his money. Since then he had been on his payroll, later becoming "inherited" by Antonin Dolohov. Now he wished he had declined the first offer. Antonin Dolohov, even more than Malfoy, didn't look like a man accepting the word "no".

"I don't want to hear your excuses," Dolohov hissed. "I need your help getting my men into Azkaban to free Nott and the others. It's your duty to get them into the sick rooms."

"It would be too conspicuous," Pike whined. "They would notice."

Dolohov rolled his eyes. Naturally they would notice. It was the reason that part of his plan was to cut any strings with Pike afterwards. Obviously, he hadn't to know that – yet. "Get Nott and Rosier into the courtyard with Ancuille. They'll attack her; you have to wade in et voila: all three need medical care. The others aren't as important but I need those three."

Rosier – he was the only one among the three with real worth. He was talented and, like most Rosiers, powerful and educated in the dark arts.

Nott – he only needed him as leverage against his sister. Without him it would be too much trouble to keep Ophelia Nott under control for long.

Ancuille – he wanted her knowledge of Bellatrix' disappearance. He had his own assumptions about the whole matter but perhaps she would be able to shed some light on the unknown.

"That could work," Pike admitted. "But afterwards…"

"I'll take care of that," Dolohov stopped him. "A little obliviate and you won't even have to fear Veritaserum anymore." This part of the plan was sound too but Dolohov didn't trust Pike anymore. He would have to decide between using memory charms on the warden or simply kill him off once the job done. "Don't disappoint me, Pike. It wouldn't be a healthy thing to do."

"I understand," Pike gulped. He did absolutely.

.

_**Reading the Book – part 5**_

.

_She had been floored. _

_I expected this to happen but it still grinded on my nerves. Having to comfort a sobbing woman is certainly not among my favourite pastimes… It never was, and never will be. Every comforting word, every assuring gesture is dragging her closer to me. Still, I really could live without it._

_Having to find nice words about that bastard of her husband was perhaps even more difficult than the rest. Good riddance – those words were certainly closer to my mind than 'what a wonderful man he has been' and 'how much all of us will miss him'. My 'he would want you to live on, fight on' was certainly believable enough. Poppy's thankful face nearly made me vomit. Oh, what we have to endure to ingratiate our tools to us? _

_Intrinsically I would hope to never again experience such exhausting and nerve-wracking weeks. However, the past tells me otherwise. It's only a question of time until I have to pretend sympathy again. Why can't they simply accept that they're tools in this war? Chess pieces, perhaps. You wouldn't weep over the loss of your favourite screwdriver. You wouldn't mourn the destruction of your knight. It would be inconvenient but nothing more. _

_I allowed Minerva a few happy moments with her husbands and now I had to take it away. Sad, but this is the reality of war. In the end it was Urquardt's own fault. He should have followed my lead and accepted his small role in this war. He wasn't meant to have his own thoughts on the matter. He wasn't important enough to have a real understanding of what was at stake. And he certainly wasn't allowed to influence my other chess pieces and turn them against me. _

_Blame on you, Urquardt. _

_I'm currently sitting here and waiting for Minerva. She announced that she wanted to speak with me, tell me some important news. Hell, I hope it's not about Urquardt again. If I hear his name from her once again, if I have to witness a single tear shed again in mourning him, I'll get really sick._

_Merlin, give me patience. _

.

_**Crosner Family Home – Part 2**_

.

"_Time for your lesson, little Jason."_

David and Isabel Crosner struggled against their bindings, yelling unheard words against the silencing magic.

"Go away," Jason screamed, trembling in fear but not willing to leave his little sister's side.

"She's unworthy, Jason," 'Bella' cooed. "She's dirt under your feet, an abnormity that can't be allowed to live." Her fingers played with the knife's sharp blade, drawing a bit of blood as it cut her skin. Liking the blood from her fingers, she grinned like the maniac she was. "You have to understand, Jason, your father never should have married your mother. She is a disgrace to your family."

'Bella' fully intended to rectify that error over the next days. She would force David to torture his wife, torture her until she screamed, until she pleaded for death and was willing to do everything to stop it – even give up her stolen magic. He wouldn't use magic on her, oh no. The bitch didn't deserve it. She would make him cut her dirty skin with a knife, soil the ground with her tainted blood, rip her apart with a whip and certainly break a few bones. The only magic allowed on the Mudblood would be a bit of healing – just enough to keep her alive for endless hours of education.

"Your mother is a thief, Jason. She stole magic from a real witch. She has to pay for it. Have you never wondered why you – the boy – have real magic like your father, while your sister – the girl – has none? She's like her mother, a worthless magic-less creature. If you allow her to survive, she will one day steal magic from another witch. We have to act. It's hard, I understand, but we have to be strong," her sadness was nearly believable. Perhaps she actually believed this nonsense right now. "It's always hard to act responsible, to do the right thing."

"No, you're wrong," Jason screamed again. "She's my sister. And my mother hasn't stolen anything. She deserves her magic ten times more than you."

'Bella's' eyes narrowed, gleaming unhealthily.

"Imperio!" She snarled, losing her patience. With maliciousness she noticed how the boy's eyes glazed over. Perhaps someone should have told her how important a strong will was regarding this spell. Perhaps she once even knew it but for now she was content with the effect.

"Take the knife," she commanded. Hesitantly, with trembling fingers he reached for it. "Take it."

"No, Jason, don't," Maddy pleaded.

"Do it," Bella growled and he obeyed. The girl tried to hide under the table, but she had no chance to escape. "Oh no, you don't…" Bella grabbed her ankle and dragged her away from the table, the little girl screaming in terror – as did her parents who were still silenced and unable to stop this horror.

Jason stood very still, the knife in his hand, and his eyes not reacting to what just happened around him. Bella put the girl on a chair and magically bound her. However, she didn't silence her, apparently enjoying her screams. "It's too late, silly girl. I won't allow you to steal magic like your mother did." Maddy struggled in vain against the bindings.

"Now, Jason, do it." The boy blinked.

"Kill her." She pushed him towards the girl.

"Jason, nooo…" Maddy pleaded. Jason's trembling returned. He lifted the knife but slowly.

"Do it, Jason, I command you. Slit her throat." His hand trembled so much, he nearly lost the grip of it.

Perhaps someone should have explained to Dolores that madness was no compensation for a strong will. Perhaps even such an explanation wouldn't have been enough. 'Bella' never really understood the concept of love. And certainly it was unimaginable for her that a magical boy could love his squib sister.

"KILL HER! OBEY ME, JASON! KILL HER!" She shook his shoulders and yelled, adding to the cacophony of voices.

The knife's blade neared Maddy's throat. The girl tried to avoid it but was unable to do so because of the magical ropes. Her eyes widened, she tensed completely as the blade rested against her soft skin.

"KILL HER! KILL HER! KILL HER!" Bella cackled madly. Isabel was near fainting.

"NOOOOO!" Suddenly the boy turned around and stabbed 'Bella' in the side. Jason was nearly blind with tears, as he stabbed widely in the direction of this madwoman. "Go away, go away; don't hurt my sister." Three, five times he stabbed her. None of the wounds aside from the first were deep or serious but they bled profusely and hurt like hell.

'Bella' staggered back, shocked by the sudden attack.

"Leave my children alone," Isabel's silence broke at last and it was obvious that both parents would soon get free. The boy was still not done however and approached this evil intruder. He started to sweep the knife like a sword and hit her arm, cutting through robe and skin alike. Something like animal fear broke through 'Bella's' madness and she turned around and fled. Within moments she left the dining room and approached the house door. Somewhere behind David escaped his bindings and reached for his wand. "Stay with your sister, Jason," he yelled before he chased behind their attacker. Jason obeyed, dropping his knife like it was a hot iron.

Bella opened the door. She felt more and more blood pouring from her wounds. The first stab had been deep. She had to escape and fast, to treat her wounds. Fast – too fast – she concentrated on her last hideout and disappeared with a loud crack, leaving behind an utterly terrified and shaken family. The Crosners would never forget this day no matter how long they lived.

.

_**A/N**_

_In the beginning I wanted to allow Umbridge to succeed in implementing her mad plan. In my mind she is very dangerous. Even without her "Bella"-madness she organized Muggleborn trials/concentration camps. Now, she's really a murderous bitch. But in the end I decided that this would be too angsty for my kind of story and allowed the boy to shake the Imperio off (a very weak one because Umbridge isn't actually a strong witch, only mad). _


	6. Chapter 6 Freedom or no Freedom

**Freedom or no Freedom**

.

_**Reading the Book – Part 6**_

.

"_Enter!"_

_Waiting for my guest to arrive, I used the interlude to gather my senses and calm my nerves. I had to display a friendly face, endearing and grandfatherly, the face Minerva expected from me, the face that had nothing to do with my real feelings, which were more in the line of annoyance and boredom. Minerva McGonagall opened the door and her face alone was proof enough that this was fast becoming another bad afternoon. She looked pale and ill, but most of all she looked nervous and unsure even if somehow happy. At that moment, I had no idea what could turn my trusted advisor and deputy into… this. _

"_Hello Minerva," I greeted her nonetheless, my voice and smile doing wonders to calm her down. Gesturing her to take a seat, I poured her a cup of tea without asking. It was a fabulous Assam tea with only a hint of calming draught; just enough to loosen her up a bit. "How are you doing on this wonderful afternoon?"_

_Minerva's hand was shaking slightly as she accepted the cup and lifted it to her lips. She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed contently as she noticed the wonderful aroma. Slowly sipping the tea and allowing the little admixture to do its job, she didn't notice how I felt the urge to roll my eyes, anxious to hear the reason for her visit and behaviour. _

"_I needed that, thank you, Albus." Minerva uttered with a weak smile._

_Being her old friend and mentor, I simply nodded, but was unable to completely suppress my frown. "You seem a little… I don't know how to describe it exactly..."_

_Minerva's smile broadened but still looked shaky. "I feel like a mess, Albus, a complete mess. I'm nervous and angst-ridden and giddy at the same time."_

"_And what caused this unusual mix of feelings?" A big bad lump arose in my stomach. I suddenly had an idea, which would be a complete disaster if proven true._

_Minerva sighed and put the cup down on the table, nearly losing her grip on it due to the shaking of her hands. "Since Elphinstone died," she started slowly, her eyes closing for a moment, allowing me some time to recover from feeling vomit rising in my gullet. "Since he died, I haven't felt very good. Actually I felt quite ill more than once, especially in the morning." She blushed and I had the urgent compulsion to faint. "I've just been to see Poppy…"_

_Don't say it, don't say it, I prayed, all the while knowing it was hopeless._

"_I'm pregnant, Albus," Minerva pressed the words, her face a mix of angst and pure joy. "I'm pregnant with Elphinstone's child."_

"_That's wonderful," I was able to claim somehow, having no idea how much my dismay showed on my face. I assume, only Minerva's shocked condition allowed me to pull the lie with any believability. "That's simply wonderful."_

_Inwardly I felt like screaming._

.

_**Near Brighton – South Coast of England – July 1996**_

.

Her leg hurt like hell. Her apparition happened too fast, as the injuries were too painful to accomplish the apparition without repercussions. She had splinched herself. Luckily she hadn't left any body part behind, but the wound on her leg was long, deep and painful. She needed medical help and fast.

_Bella_ sat down on a rock and ripped off a patch of her black robes. _Black? Don't I usually wear pink_…? _Bella_ shook her head. _No, I wear black, always black, and never pink_. With much more enthusiasm than knowledge she put some kind of pressure bandage on the wound to slow down the blood loss. Where could she hide? Where to get a healer? The picture of an old cottage crossed her mind. _Bella_ had spent many hours there, she remembered now. For a moment she shuddered in fear. Why would I fear my own name? It's utter nonsense. Her head hurt. It hurt often lately.

It would be nice to have a few of her cats around now. They could calm her down. Their touch had always been comforting. _At Hogwarts I had at least my cat plates around_. What was she thinking? She hadn't been at Hogwarts since her graduation. She never had cats, neither real nor on plates. They were far too girlie, the simple thought of possessing some was ludicrous. _Bella_ pushed the unwanted thoughts aside. She had a hideout, now she needed a healer.

Yes, she remembered something, a place she had visited once. She had been there and got sunburn. She needed help back then, and found herself a healer. No real skills but it would be enough for now. Ignoring the pictures of her walking around on a beach with a pink, fluffy bathrobe over her small, broad-shouldered frame, she concentrated on her destination.

Hopefully her next apparition wouldn't cause her to lose consciousness.

.

"Out of my way."

_Bella_ shouldered her way through the patients waiting for their turn, ignoring their complaints as she was far too busy not to scream in pain. The last apparition had reopened the wound and she was dripping blood. A few of the patients noticed it as did the nurse which had been ready to intercept her. Instead, she was now ushering her into the treatment room. The small practice was seated in the magical village that belonged to Worthing, a city with a population of around 100,000, a short distance west of Brighton.

"Please wait here," she said. "I'll go fetch the healer."

"Hurry! Flying feet!" _Bella_ barked.

Actually, she didn't have to wait very long. Barely two minutes later, a woman wearing a healer's robe barged in. Bella remembered her, Healer Smith or something, a lacklustre healer barely able to fulfil her role around these rustics, but far safer than risking a visit to St. Mungo's.

"I'm Healer Smythers. What can I do…?" The woman gasped as she noticed the amount of blood on Bella's robes. "Please undress. I'll take a look right away." She helped the woman get off her clothes, the whole time thinking about where she knew her face from. Careful not to cause more pain, she peeled the woman out of her clothes and examined the wounds. There were several cuts and stabbing wounds coming from some sharp and pointy object, presumably a knife. She assumed they were the reason the woman splinched herself.

_She must be nearly mad with pain_, Smythers mused.

_Mad_… her eyes widened. She remembered the news, and therefore where she had previously seen that face. Before she had a chance to react however, her patient suddenly had her wand in her hand and was pointing it towards her.

"Stay here, keep your mouth shut and do your work," the woman growled. "Hurry up or you won't like the consequences."

Healer Smythers nodded weakly. Her hands trembled and she was only able to get her self-control back when she noticed the woman's glare, her eyes that promising pain and death should she floundered. She did her best and was able to stop the blood loss after a while. A number of blood replenishing potions – she had to order the nurse fetch them as the woman didn't allow her to leave the room – helped too.

"You should really go to St. Mungo's," the healer urged her, fully expecting her to decline. After all, according to the papers she had killed one of the nurses there the last time. Certainly nothing suited to ingrain her to their goodwill.

"No," her patient sneered.

"You'll need treatment for a few more days," the Healer sighed, realizing a few seconds too late that there was another solution, one she wouldn't like one bit. "You'll need potions."

"And that's exactly the reason," her patient snarled as she raised her wand and threatened her "why you're going to start packing now. You're accompanying me."

"I can't do this," Healer Smythers gasped. "My patients…"

"… are irrelevant," the woman declared, making a dismissive gesture. "Gather your things," she commanded. "And hurry up!"

.

"Come in, come in."

_Bella_ gestured Healer Smythers into the house. The small Cottage was seated near Nottingham, quite an idyllic site actually, with much forest and rolling hills around. There hadn't been wards to guard the premises and the cottage had apparently been unused for more than a decade. _Perhaps I have been its last visitor then_, _Bella_ mused darkly.

Smythers obeyed the command, her body very tense as if she expected to get hexed in the back at any moment. She stared around in wonder, not realizing that _Bella_ had the same expression on her face. The cottage had been build more than 150 years ago and furnished in a Victorian style.

_No cats_, _Bella_ noticed with a touch of sadness. _Not even pictures of them_. She frowned. _What was it with her and cats these days?_

"Your room is upstairs, second door on the right. I'll take the master room at the end of the corridor," _Bella_ snarled. "Don't you dare try to run. And don't leave the house unless I tell you so."

Smythers hastened to nod her acknowledgement of said rules before ascending the stairs in search of her room.

_This will be awful._

.

_**Reading the Book – Part 7**_

.

_The last couple of weeks had been awful. More and more Minerva had shown signs of defiance. More and more she had shied away from danger, trying to protect her unborn baby. Aside from Filius and Alastor, Minerva had always been my strongest fighter. While Filius was the better duellist and Alastor knew more about Dark Arts and Defence than any of them, Minerva was one of the strongest witches I ever met. She was incredibly talented in Transfiguration and her stubbornness had helped her in endless situations. Perhaps of even more importance had been her flawless character. Her loyalty and unfailing support had gathered me even more supporters than my bond to Fawkes._

_I simply needed her. I couldn't lose her. But that's exactly what nearly happened today. I pushed the door open and hurried into the Hospital Ward. Poppy Pomfrey and Horace Slughorn were gathered around one of the beds and I knew better than to disrupt their work, irrespective of my inner uproar. Silently I watched them for a while. They were discussing how to treat their patient, how to adapt the usual potions for her sake. In times like this it was incredibly useful having experts like them belonging to my staff. _

_Only when Minerva's condition seemed to stabilize and Slughorn hurried away to prepare a number of special potions did Poppy take notice of her guest. With an exhausted sigh she sat down and grabbed a glass of water, drinking the content in big gulps._

"_How is Minerva doing?" I asked her, putting the right amount of concern into my voice._

"_As well as could be expected," Poppy deadpanned. "She isn't out of danger yet but she seems to be stable at least. Tomorrow I'll know more."_

_I nodded slowly, allowed my body and mind to relax slightly._

"_Alastor told me it was an assassination attempt!" Poppy growled. I confirmed this fact. Alastor had told me the same before hurrying away to follow some critical leads. It was one of the dangers of Minerva's position. Or enemies knew of her importance, and what a blow they could deliver to me by killing her. Until a few weeks ago she never felt troubled by this danger, but now…_

"_At least the baby is alright," Poppy suddenly added, a first small smile showing. "Its heartbeat is strong and steady. I don't expect any complications."_

_I nodded, struggling to show a smile as well. Losing her child would have made it easier for everyone in the future._

_Losing her child…_

.

_Oh, Merlin, no_! The small hands trembled and the book slipped from his fingers. He didn't react to the noise, nor did he notice the stream of tears running down his cheeks. _This can't be. Please, no_.

.

_**Ministry of Magic – Office of Amelia Bones – three days later**_

.

"Still no sign of her."

Kingsley Shacklebolt sat down with an angry harrumph. Sometimes he hated his job, or to be more specific: he hated his current post and its enforced inactivity. He wanted to go out there himself, to hunt down that bitch and crucify her. He trembled, for a moment unable to control his boiling rage. Amelia Bones didn't scold him for feeling this way. She knew that feeling very well, as she experienced it more than once in the past. It was easy to storm ahead, to take action. It was far more difficult to sit back, be patient and trust your underlings to do their jobs.

Kingsley pushed a piece of paper on her table. It was the last version of the wanted picture they had published. It was now two-parted: the picture on the left showed the real Dolores Umbridge, complete by wearing her awful pink cardigan and that stupid grin. The picture on the right, however, was even more disturbing in a way. This mix of Dolores and Bellatrix was a tad frightening. At least she didn't have the magical talent or power of the real Bellatrix LeStrange.

"And she actually believes herself to be Bellatrix LeStrange?" Amelia wondered. In the beginning, after Dolores fled the hospital ward and killed a nurse, it seemed like a completely normal case: A maniac escaped, albeit a dangerous one. However it changed soon enough throughout the later incidents, by her behaviour at the places where she had shown her ugly face.

"Unquestionably, yes," Kingsley nodded. Exactly what he needed: a maniac who believed herself to be Bella and was even more mad, vicious and uncontrolled than the real bitch… err, witch. "At every single places she was spotted, where she had interacted with someone – be it the Crosner family, the healer's office in Worthing or the Apothecary in Nottingham – she referred to herself as Bellatrix LeStrange. She was wearing black robes, even coloured her hair black – more or less successfully – and tried to behave like her, to some extent... In addition she is far more vicious and brutal than in the past." He had seen the memories. The ones taken at the Crosners' had been especially disturbing.

Amelia nodded. Dolores had always been a bitch. She had been spiteful and loved to hurt others. However, she had been a coward too and rarely acted this openly. "Any explanation as to how this all started?" Amelia asked.

"Actually Spiritualist Nowles explained it to me. Fifteen years ago, when Bellatrix, the real Bellatrix, tortured Alice Longbottom, a tiny sliver of her magic attached itself to her victim. We don't know if it happened incidentally or purposefully..."

Amelia frowned. "So it was something like what happened to Harry?"

"In a way, it seems so," Kingsley nodded. "If on a far weaker scale. It's not really a part of her soul but only a bit of her magic and perhaps a few memories. This sliver thread jumped into the brain of Daphne Pinegrew when she healed Alice Longbottom. Luckily the girl's training allowed her to contain it safely through something similar to Occlumency."

"So Daphne could have turned into Bella, too?" Amelia asked, now really concerned.

"Yes," Kingsley sighed. "That's the reason why her mother, her aunt and Spiritualist Nowles were so unhappy about all this. It was too early for her to risk experimenting like this."

"And this sliver thread then landed in Dolores' tender brain how?" Nothing about Dolores could ever be called tender.

"It jumped again when she weakened Daphne's shields enough through torture and Veritaserum before using Legilimency on her. It was her own doing in the end that damned her."

"Yes, it seems to be. But it doesn't help us now. We have to find her."

"Yes," Kingsley unhappily agreed. "After her attack on the Crosners I increased her hunting degree to ?BloodRed?. She is now number three on our list of wanted people, right after Dolohov and Madam Guille. However I still hope she will be easier to catch. She has no apparent support, and luckily lacks Bellatrix' intellect." Kingsley scowled for a moment, remembering the pictures of the Crosner family, who were extremely churned up by the attack. Especially the children had needed psychological help. Luckily, through Nowles' connections, it had been easy to get a very competent mind healer to assist the family in processing the events.

"Still she was not only able to abduct a healer but also to disappear," Amelia growled, for a moment feeling, like Kingsley, eager to go hunting herself for some toad.

"Nowles assumed that Dolores got a few of Bellatrix' memories as well and now uses them to hide. We searched any places connected with Dolores and her family. Her few distant family members still alive are being watched. We are now following some leads we got from Sirius Black about places the real Bellatrix knew. Hopefully she'll be using one of them as her hideout."

"Good, do that," Amelia agreed. "I want you to find her, Kings. I want that murderous bitch out of our streets as soon as magically possible."

"I understand."

.

_**Reading the Book – Part 8**_

.

"_I'm sorry, Albus, but I can't stay anymore." Minerva was sitting across the table, kneading her hands and looking guilty but also resolved to go through with her decision. I stared at her, feeling flabbergasted and helpless. For the first time in years I was speechless._

"_It's the only thing left of Elphinstone…" Again I felt bile rising at the mentioning of his name. Why couldn't he have died for good?_

"_I can't lose it, Albus," Minerva sighed, her expression changing to determination. "They nearly killed me last time. They nearly made me lose my baby. I can't risk that again, Albus, I simply can't. You know I would help you otherwise. Nothing else could stop me…" She stopped, her voice trembling. The proud and stubborn woman showed an emotional side I never knew she had. And it was a side I didn't like. However, I was able to force a smile on my face. I bent forward and patted her hands. _

"_It's alright, Minerva. I understand. You've done your part and more than that. It's time to think about the baby. I wouldn't forgive myself should you lose it. The last time was awful already, seeing you like that in Poppy's care. I don't want to ever experience that again."_

"_Thank you, Albus," Minerva relaxed a bit. "You're a great friend."_

"_It's the least I can do." I nodded and smiled my best grandfather smile. "What plans do you have? Do you need any help?"_

"_I want to leave the country for a while. An aunt of mine is living in Sweden. She promised to help me." I blinked. So her plans were further along than I expected. "I'll need a few weeks to show Pomona the ropes as your new deputy and I have no idea so far who could replace me as your transfiguration teacher and head of house Gryffindor."_

"_I'll find someone," I declared softly. "What about your books and everything?"_

"_Filius charmed a trunk for me, but I'll still have to sort through my things. I won't need everything over there." She hesitated for a moment. "I intend to return, Albus, either when the situation here changes or in a few years at most. My aunt promised me to raise the girl should anything happen to me."_

"_So it's a girl? Congratulations." I said absentminded._

"_Yes," Minerva smiled that sappy, motherly smile. "I want to name her Freya Sophia – after Elphinstone's late sister and my grandmother."_

"_What a beautiful name it is," I praised, my mind running through dozens of plans._

"_It is, isn't it?" Minerva smiled. "I thing Elphinstone would have liked it." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "I could use your help in getting a portkey without anybody knowing. I don't want to risk anybody unexpectedly showing up at my new home."_

"_Certainly," I nodded "I'll arrange that. If there is anything else I can do for you, don't hesitate to ask."_

"_Thank you, Albus," Minerva sighed._

_After a bit more small talk she left my office, leaving behind her very concerned headmaster and leader of the light._

_I simply can't allow this to happen. It's time for plan B._

.

_**St. Margaret Hospital – Aberdeen, Scotland**_

.

The first part of his plan had worked like clockwork. Rosier and Nott, meeting Madam Ancuille on their weekly allowed walk in Azkaban's courtyard, needed neither urging nor command to attack the woman on sight. Her betrayal to the cause, real and assumed, had been reason enough to inflame their hate. It needed six wardens to separate them – not very gently by the way as some of the wardens used the occasion to let go of a bit of steam of their own – and they didn't succeed before all three Death Eaters needed some care from a healer.

And despite all the rumours: there was medical care at Azkaban. Too many of the inhabitants belonged to rich and important families. Too many of them could cause serious trouble after their possible discharge. There was a stationary medic at the prison, with barely enough knowledge to treat minor things – mostly pneumonia, which had been the cause of death number one in earlier times. For more serious things, the prisoners were usually sent to the St. Margaret's hospital in Aberdeen. In principle it was a Muggle hospital, named after St. Margaret, late wife of Malcolm the third and Queen of Scotland in the eleventh century. However, there was a hidden wing used by wizards, mostly for the magical population of Aberdeen but also, from time to time, for more serious cases among the prisoners.

Antonin Dolohov sneered as he walked the corridors of the hospital, carefully disguised, along with three of his more trusted thugs behind him. Two more were waiting by the exit while the rest of his commando had been ordered to intercept any arriving reinforcements. He knew this corridors, for he had been here himself a few times over the decade of his imprisonment. They only used this hospital instead of St. Mungo's because they didn't want to disturb the finer gents of society by the troubling sight of prisoners in rags, beaten and famished. Apparently the people of Aberdeen had a stronger stomach for such things.

For a moment he allowed his mind to wander. His time in Azkaban had been hell, unworthy of him, unworthy of any real wizard. It was nearly laughable that it needed a half-blood and a Mudblood to instigate changes. It was an open secret that it was Harry Potter and that Granger girl who had influenced Amelia Bones with the last changes, be them finalized or ongoing. The prisoners now got better clothes and food, and had more allowed time in the courtyard and bathroom. Strawmats turned into beds and runed heating/cooling charms proffered an acceptable temperature. It was still no luxury hotel, but a far cry from the conditions of the past. There was even ongoing construction work to change a part of the prison into a "light duty wing". It was meant for cases with penalties of one year at most.

_Punish them, do not break them_, was the motto.

"Who are…"

The lonely guard – belonging to the newly founded security force that became needed after the dismissal/destruction of the Dementors – had no chance to react. Before he was even able to raise his wand, Antonin Dolohov cut him down. With barely a look he stepped over the body now bleeding dry on the ground. Seconds later the first screams sounded through the rooms and corridors. A second guard was able to fire off a few spells and even hit one of Dolohov's thugs in the shoulder before he was killed, too. Dolohov rolled his eyes at the sight of the wailing thug.

_This is the kind of scum I have to work with these days, what a shame._

Gesturing his men to stand guard, he pushed the door open to the first of the three rooms containing the subjects of this little endeavour. A shell-shocked Theodore Nott senior watched him walk in.

"Hello there Theo, long time no see."

.

_**City of Manchester – a week later**_

.

_Bella_ was grinning like mad. In order not to draw too much attention to Nottingham and her hidden cottage, she had started to visit the nearby City of Manchester for little strolls, to get an ice cream here and now and to buy everything else she needed. Healer Smythers was chained to the wall at those times. She trusted her, more or less, but not so far. She didn't like Manchester all too much. It was a far cry from Diagon Alley or even Hogsmeade, but the little magical village on the outskirts of the city had everything she needed for now.

Today however, she had a new target, a very special target. Imagine her surprise and wonder when, taking a wrong turn and somehow ending in a Muggle neighbourhood, just wanting to apparate away, she noticed a man walking down the street. It was not just any man but a very special one, a man she had wanted to meet for weeks now. Her poor husband had been killed. He died the same night she had been seriously injured at Longbottom Manor. For a moment _Bella_ stopped to walk, frowning and thinking. How had she been healed? She couldn't remember. Unwilling to live in the past, _Bella_ shrugged. Anyway – Rodolphus had died that night, but his brother, her brother-in-law, Rastaban, had survived. He survived the Dark Lord as well and Bella was more than eager to hear how that had even been possible. Betrayal was in the air.

And there, right in front of her, in the middle of Muggles, he was – Rastaban LeStrange.

.

Henry Broden belonged to an old Manchester family, a family that had supplied lawyers, judges, professors and city councils for more than three centuries. He was a bit of a disappointment for his parents, getting only mediocre degrees at school, barely passing university and now earning his living with an unimportant job at the building department of Manchester. He was too lazy to seriously work on his career and enjoyed his life far too much to let it be spoiled by the pretentious plans of his family. They urged him to marry "right" – meaning richly and influentially. And English, naturally, not the Scottish dancing girl he was dating right now. Alright, not exactly dating, more shagging. Despite his other flaws he had one big talent: he had good looks, a natural charm and an aptitude for woman. He more often than not was able to guess when a woman needed a shoulder to cry on and if it led to more – it was his duty to take care of them, wasn't it?

Henry Broden was walking down a street in Manchester, pondering how to spend the afternoon. His girlfriend had dance practice for a few hours more and he was bored. For a moment he noticed a weird woman. She was wearing a very old-fashioned black dress – a dress that did nothing to enhance her ugly appearance by the way – and apparently had tried, not very competently, to dye her hair. Henry shuddered. Poor husband – if she actually had been able to convince someone to marry her. A few steps later he had forgotten about her again already.

Three streets later, he still had no idea what to do with his spare time. Henry had no idea that someone was working exactly on solving that problem. He rounded a corner into a smaller, unpopulated street only to come face to face with the ugly woman. Henry only had a few seconds to take her in: the dress even more old-fashioned on closer look, the mad look in her eyes, and the funny little stick in her hand she was pointing towards him right now.

"Hello Rastaban," the woman smiled her toad-like smile.

_Who's Rastaban_, he had barely time to wonder before the red light smacked into his chest and everything went black.

.

_**Reading the Book – Part 9**_

.

"_I lost her, Albus," Minerva wailed from her bed, deeply troubled despite the heavy calming potions. "I lost my little baby, my little Freya." She trembled wildly, her shoulder sagging and shuddering, her face a mask of agony. Luckily I had had enough time to prepare for this moment. My Occlumency shields were strongly in place and I had told himself the cover story often enough to nearly believe it myself. _

_It was an accident. Nobody was to blame. Nobody could have prevented it._

"_I'm so sorry, Minerva." I sat down at her side and pulled her in my arms, partially to comfort her, partially to have a moment to strengthen my face of pure concern. I cared for her, I really did. It pained me immensely to see her hurt like this. If there had been any other way, I wouldn't have done it. But how many babies would survive now, because I still had my Deputy. Minerva would need a few weeks to recover, but in the end she would do her duty again. I had no doubt about that. _

"_I ordered some house-elves to repair the stairs," I whispered. Minerva paled but nodded, her smile shaking. She couldn't remember the fall, only knew that she had been found at the base of the stairs, presumably hours after the fall. If someone had found her earlier, perhaps her baby would have survived. She would never know. Her baby was gone. Elphinstone's baby was gone, the last connection to her late husband. Poppy had done everything she possibly could, but even her magic had its limits._

"_Please get better soon, Minerva," I whispered, stroking her back. I felt her small nod, even as she was unable to answer me. _

_Minutes later I left the hospital, fled the scene of my crime. It would haunt me in my dreams, I knew. However, it had to be done. The decision had to be made._

_For the Greater Good._

.

He was able to control himself as he put the book down and left the house.

He was trembling as he reached Gringotts and rushed past the guards without words.

He was shaking wildly as he sent everybody away from the guard training room.

He completely lost it the second the door closed behind them. The room was meant as a training course, with obstacles to overcome and beasts to neutralize. Today however, he had no patience for any of this. He simply blasted it apart altogether. He crushed the walls, shattered pillars, evaporated ponds of water and mud. Neither Pixies nor Grindilows or Boggarts ever stood a chance. He didn't stop before everything was destroyed and blown to tiny pieces, screaming all the time, cursing Albus and wishing him dead; he didn't stop before he slumped to the ground, utterly spent, shaking, and mumbling Minerva's name.

A number of Goblin trainers watched him as he exhausted himself completely. One of them had the presence of mind to activate the recording system. It would be worth a dozen speeches to show new guards such a motivating film.

"Minerva," Filius Flitwick mumbled, fully exhausted. "Minerva, what do I tell you? How can I tell you what he did to you?" A while later he fell asleep. He didn't notice how his old trainer entered the room and carried him off to a resting room. The old Goblin looked around, showing a toothy grin as he noticed the scope of destruction.

Self-control was a good and important thing.

Sometimes however you simply just had to let it go.

.

**Somewhere near Birmingham**

.

Alecto Carrow had used the best spells known to her to hide her approach. Every witch worth a knut was able to disillusion herself, but she had spent some time in the – regretfully awfully small – library in Tandrow Castle in order to find other spells able to hide smell and noises too. She felt more or less secure now, despite her nerves still being on edge. If she got caught by Fenrir's men… Alecto shuddered, just thinking about it. It was no secret what happened to witches at the mercy of his men.

Alecto's hand patted down her knife as if to make certain it was still there. Despite her magical talents, the simple weapon would be her best defence. It wasn't a real silver knife but it was silvered at least. It certainly would hurt the dogs. And the paste she put on the blade, she created from the poison she bought in advance, should be strong enough to put them down – at least the first few of them. The poisonous paste would wear off through use of the blade, so she had to be careful not to fight too many other werewolves before she got Fenrir under her blade. Not that she assumed to have that big a chance against him without the benefit of a surprise attack.

With narrowed eyes she watched the guard walking around the house she knew Fenrir was using as residence. It was seated at the edge of the neighbourhood his pack used for now, the narrow street that formerly housed steel-workers. Other Werewolves rarely entered Fenrir's house but she had observed the street long and often enough to know his usual daily pattern. Soon he would leave the house, walk down the street and visit a handful other Werewolves, those he thought important enough to speak to. He would buy a lump of fresh meat from the local butcher – an ugly man with the same sense of vicious humour as Fenrir, a fact apparently enough to let the Werewolf leader overlook the fact that he was a Muggle – and return to his home for the afternoon. Only after sunset would he leave again, this time for a run in the wild. However, he would be accompanied then by half of the pack, making a direct attack impossible.

No, the best plan of action was to wait for him to leave, put the guard out of action and sneak into the house, waiting inside for Fenrir to return and then to spring the trap. It was a good plan, a solid plan. It only had one flaw, a very serious and deadly one: it was the plan Fenrir wanted her to devise.

_She never stood a chance._

.

The blade cut cleanly through the guard's throat. The wound fumed a bit from the contact with the silver. He had barely the breath to gurgle as he went down in a heap. For a few moments he continued to move weakly, but very fast the poison was doing its work. Then he succumbed to it and became very still. Alecto sighed, actually feeling bad for a second. She was a bitch and proud of it. She relished in pain and death. Still, she didn't like the thought of murdering someone and this guard was barely an adult. He looked thin, malnourished and was wearing rags only. It was a good guess, she assumed, that he was one of the many Werewolves that had never been accepted to a school; one of the youths growing up without any real hope or future. He looked Scandinavian and certainly belonged to the growing number of non-British Werewolves filling Fenrir's ranks.

_You should have stayed at home._

After refreshing her concealing spells, Alecto crossed the short distance to the house and entered it, making certain that there weren't any dangerous wards guarding it. Perhaps the absence of wards should have warned her, but on the other hand it was realistic to believe that no Werewolf would dare to enter the house without Fenrir's explicit allowance.

The house stank. All over the floor were empty brandy bottle and remains of Fenrir's not very clean meals. Alecto wrinkled her nose as she noticed the scraps of flesh all around the eating table, some of them already getting spoiled. As she glanced into one of the smaller rooms, she recoiled in disgust. Apparently Fenrir didn't understand the meaning of a Muggle toilet – or didn't care.

_How can anybody, even a beast like him, live in this?_ She shuddered. Alecto knew she had changed since turning into a Werewolf. This however was barely human behaviour anymore.

As she walked further into the house, she once thought to have heard something. Stopping instantly, she listened. Nothing! Imagination perhaps, she mused. Going upstairs she searched for his sleeping quarters to take a look. One of the stairs squeaked and she froze. Hearing no reaction, she continued to climb the stairs after a moment. Three doors, one of them was ajar. Peeping through the crack of the door, Alecto had really found his rooms. It was in a slightly better condition than the ground-floor and reeked of wolf.

Alecto opened the door but hesitated for a moment. Something was wrong but she couldn't put her finger on it exactly. Narrowing her eyes she looked around again. It was too calm. _Weird_, Alecto mused, _why would I think that? The room is empty. Naturally it is calm_. A whisper of a sound resonated through the room, like clothes scratching over wallpaper. She whirled around and drew her wand, pointing it in the direction where the sound had been. Her eyes widened as she noticed the faintest of outlines. Alecto had barely time to scream her first spell as the trap sprang in form of five Werewolves lying in wait.

"Reducto!" The spell smashed into Werewolf and wall, breaking bones and skin in shoulder, chest and hip.

"Ah!" Alecto screamed as something ripped through her clothes, skin and flesh. Whirling around she had barely time to dodge the next attack. One Werewolf – untransformed but wearing some weird kind of fist weapon similar to metallic claws – tried to hit her again. Hastily she dodged a cutting curse targeted to her wand hand and tried to move around her clawed attacker, intending to put him between her and the rest of her attackers. It proved to be a good move but a also bad idea, as one of the other doors opened and two more Werewolves appeared on the scene.

_So this is the reason of the street's emptiness_, Alecto realized too late.

One Werewolf from the group in the sleeping room used some kind of blast spell to alert the vicinity. Apparently he wasn't all too concerned about the statute of secrecy. On the other hand, the Muggles around would certainly explain the noise away as some kind of firework.

Alecto jumped to the side as something came flying. It hit the wall where she had been standing a second before. _A net_, she realized with panic. _They want to catch me alive_. Rolling over the floor, she tried to concentrate on apparition. Two times she had to abort before she had the time to finish the deed, only to experience the rush of fear someone felt when he noticed there was no escape: apparition wards. The fear turned into animalistic terror when one of the Werewolves jumped her to force her to the ground and another one kicked her wand away.

Feeling his hands on her right arm and around her throat, she pulled the knife from its sheath and stabbed him in the side. The Werewolf howled in pain. The other Werewolf ran around her head and reached down to grab her left hand with the knife, only to feel himself stabbed into the calf. It wasn't a serious wound, but deep enough and the poison immediately started to do its work.

Someone rushed up the stairs from below and Alecto had no doubt that Fenrir gracing them with his presence right now. Several more time she stabbed both Werewolves keeping her down, trying to push them away as she felt their weakening condition. However, she didn't feel very good herself with one hand still strangling her. She stabbed the arm two times and the Werewolf let go. Alecto pushed him aside and started to stand up. Spots of blackness flickered in her side. She was halfway up as Fenrir, pushing his men aside, reached her. Weakly she tried to stab him, hoping to at least take him with her. With a malicious grin and quite easily he dodged the attack. Before she had a chance for a second go, he lashed out, kicking her into the head. Upper and lower jaw clicked together, biting off part of her tongue. Several teeth broke off from the impact and stubborn as she was, there was no chance to beat unconsciousness. With barely a sound she sank to the ground, her knife clattering over the ground.

"Welcome back, Alecto," Fenrir grinned. "Welcome back."

.

_**Reading the Book – Part 10**_

.

Filius stared out of the window, the book laying unopened in his lap. He had returned to Dumbledore's house – he wasn't able anymore to allow him the honour of a title – to steal the diary, prevent any other person from reading it. Right now he felt unable to continue reading. His heart and mind was empty. Filius had done his best to avoid Minerva so far but she would notice very soon that something was amiss.

_What can I do?_

.

_She had recovered from the ordeal. _

_I had expected it to happen and I had been right – again. It had been the right choice, hard as it had been. For the Greater Good Minerva had to be free of any obligations and connections, free to do her duty in this war. She would never know what really happened. She would never have understood. Sometime being the right choice wasn't enough._

_Minerva was still quieter than before, sadder and prone to moods. However, she was improving and soon enough she would be even stronger than before. I had started to direct her anger towards Tom's followers. You can't take revenge on a stairs, but you can do the same to Death Eaters._

_Perhaps I can do something nice for her, I mused as I continued my nightly walk through the empty corridors of my beloved Hogwarts. I could buy her a book – or perhaps a cat. Yes, I nodded to myself, a cat would certainly be nice, an appropriate gift from a friend._

.

_**A/N**_

_You'll see more of Bella/Dolores next time as well as Dolohov and Fenrir._

_I'll try to publish a chapter such as this every two weeks from now on. _

_First I wrote the book parts in third person. Luckily my beta reader noticed and I changed it now. Hopefully I didn't miss anything._


	7. Chapter 7 A Tale about a Lady

_**A/N**_

_**Warning**__: the part about Fenrir/Alecto is not very nice to read._

_There has been a (rightful) complaint about a __**lack of scenes with the quartet**__. This will change. You'll see a first (small) scene in this chapter and the next chapters will concentrate on the experiences of the quartet (purge of Harry's Horcrux at last, hunt for the other Horcruxes and three of the birthdays). _

**.**

**A Tale about a Lady**

.

_**Flashback**_

.

_Millicent Bulstrode froze in her work as she heard the rattling at the entrance door. Fearfully she listened, gulping, and knowing who would be down there. Dear father, she sneered to herself. There they were: the heavy steps of his boots, drowning out the far lighter ones of her mother, timid, and trying not to draw his attention. Her mother had always lived in fear, the same fate that would have been lying ahead of Millie without the assistance of her new friends. Slowly he was climbing the stairs, before turning towards the corridor leading to her chamber._

_Millicent put the last stack of books into her trunk. Paddoc had already transported the bulk of her things to the Rook, the traditional home of the Lovegood family. It was well-known that the grumpy house-elf had a soft spot for Luna. Merlin help the dumb ass who tried to hurt the petite girl. Millicent blushed as she imagined her little friend, and her newly-found confusing feelings concerning her. The big girl shook her head to drive away the silly thoughts. She had no time for this, not right now. With determination she closed the trunk's lid and turned around as she heard her father enter her room._

"_So you're really leaving," he said with a rumbling voice._

"_Yes, father," Millicent responded, struggling to remain calm. Her eyes wandered towards her mother's face and instantly rage poured into her heart and mind as she noticed the tears and the stain of a slap. Her father wasn't allowed having a wand for some time. It apparently didn't stop him from physically harassing his far smaller wife. Just like the good old times, Millie thought with disgust._

"_You should stay. It's your duty as a faithful daughter…"_

_Millie blocked him out. She had heard that nonsense far too often in the past to listen again. Times had changed. She wasn't forced to obey him anymore. Instead she walked past him and towards her mother. Without a word she pulled her into a hug. Her mother startled for a moment at the unusual gesture, but after a few seconds she melted into her daughter's embrace, the daughter who shared the physical build but certainly not the mind and emotions of her father. _

"_I am speaking to you." Her father suddenly growled and grabbed her arm, turning her around sharply to face him._

_Millicent felt her blood turning to ice in her veins. How could she ever have feared this man? He was nothing but a bully, a coward. He followed the stronger and was unable to shape his own fate. He may be a pureblood and belong to an old family, but he had neither intellect nor talent and certainly no courage. He was so different from her new friends, so different from Professor Pinegrew or Professor Snape. He wasn't a real man. Millicent narrowed her eyes and glanced at the spot where her father's hand was grabbing her arm. She looked up and stared him in the eye without a word. Her father gulped and after a moment of hesitation, confusion and a tiny bit of fear, he let go._

"_Paddoc!"_

_With a plop the house-elf appeared in the middle of the room. _

"_Whose…?"_

"_Paddoc, this is my mother," Millicent introduced, prompting her mother to raise an eyebrow and her father to scowl. "I would like you to visit her every few days and examine her. If she's hurt in any way, I want you to take her to Madam Pomfrey and inform me about it. Could you do this for me?"_

"_You have no right…" Millicent's father advanced threateningly only to find himself face to face with a small but frighteningly angry house-elf._

"_Miss Millie is Miss Luna's friend. Paddoc will do as asked. Paddoc is happy to help." Millicent smiled shortly as she heard Paddoc fall into the usual house-elf speech, knowing that he was able to express himself far better if he wanted to, certainly better than her chimpanzee of father. Without a wand and with her mother in control of the manor's wards, Paddoc would be able to visit her, and do as she suggested. _

"_You little disgusting…" Millie's father raised his hand to smack the little creature. Instantly he found himself facing Millie's wand._

"_I wouldn't do that, father." She sneered._

"_How dare you," he growled. _

"_I should have done it years ago." She turned around towards her mother. "I'm sorry to leave you with him, mother," she sighed. "But I can't stand him. If I stayed, one of us wouldn't survive the week."_

_Her father sneered again, but felt himself completely ignored. _

"_I know, Millie," her mother smiled weakly. "Have a good time with Luna."_

_Millie blushed, prompting her father to frown and her mother's smile to broaden. "I will."_

_She stepped at Paddoc's side, who had jumped on her trunk, and allowed him to grab her hand. Before they disappeared she gave her father a last warning: "don't you dare hurt her, father. You wouldn't like the consequences."_

.

_**The Rook**_

.

_This is your room._

She remembered warmly the moment Luna showed her the room Millie would be using for the summer. Luna had watched the older, bigger girl with concern, fidgeting as if she was afraid she wouldn't like it. Hell, Millie would have liked a kennel if it meant to get away from her father – and to be near Luna, well...

"_It's wonderful_." Luna had instantly relaxed and shown that incredible, dazzling smile, a smile that had caused Millie's big heart to miss a beat or two.

Since her arrival, she had experienced the best summer of her young life. Luna and her father took her to the Quibbler's office twice a week and she even wrote an article about the next school year and her expectations, meant to be published in one of the August editions. Luna's father said she had talent and Luna happily agreed. Every weekend they went on some excursion, searching for mythical creatures or visiting some magical place. Tomorrow they would start a four-day-trip to Island where Luna wanted to show her some Crumple-Horned Snorkacks.

Luna – Millie hadn't spoken with her so far. Yes, naturally she had spoken with her, but she hadn't spoken-spoken, if you get the drift. Millie was still struggling with her feelings, unable to understand them herself. Her father had always expected her to marry some pureblood wizard one day. Greg Goyle's advances – clumsy as they may have been – had been more than welcome to him. At least Greg had started to understand that there would only ever be a platonic friendship between them. It didn't stop him from behaving protectively around her and slightly jealous.

_I have to speak with him after the summer break_, Millie groaned.

"Everything alright?" Luna's question pulled Millie away from her uneasy thoughts. She forced a small smile on her face and nodded. "Thinking about your mother?" Luna asked, her eyes wandering to the locket between Millie's heavy breasts.

Millie nodded again, happy about the change of topic. The locket had been a gift from Daphne and Harry. Its twin now worn by her mother. They were connected and allowed her mother to flee to her should her father lose control again. So far he had been quiet and had not troubled her mother too much, but Millie had been relieved when Daphne presented her with the lockets. _She shouldn't have to endure this piece of shit_, Millie fumed inwardly.

Her thoughts must have shown on her face as she found herself hugged by Luna, her arms too short to embrace her fully. "She'll be alright, Millie. Everything will be alright."

Millie believed her. Luna knew best. Always.

.

_**Somewhere near Birmingham**_

.

One down with a slit throat; two of his men poisoned; Fenrir watched the slender woman through narrowed eyes and with a malicious grin on his face. He had expected to pay such a price. He had been willing to pay it to get her alive. His grin broadened. She never had a chance to escape his clutches. Silly woman to believe otherwise. It was nearly Gryffindorish to even attempt the attack.

"What are you staring at, you beast?" The object of his attention snarled. For a moment she fought against her bindings. "Why don't you simply kill me?"

"Where would be the fun in that?" He asked, his voice dishonestly sweet. He stepped forward and sat down on the edge of the bed she was occupying. Alecto Carrow was lying on her stomach, eagle-spread with wrists and ankles bound to the iron bedframe. She tried to dodge his hands as they started to roam over her body. His right hand stopped on her bottom. "Did it miss me?"

Alecto looked confused for a moment. "What…?"

"Your ass… did it miss me?" Her eyes widened in fear. "I really would like to… reconnect."

"No," she screamed and started to fight her bindings in earnest. There was no way to escape. He had more than enough experience with Werewolves to make this failsafe.

"But first," he left his spot and walked to his trunk standing at the wall across the room. He opened the trunk and rummaged through the things stored there. At last he pulled something from the mess and turned round. "First you need a little discipline."

Alecto stilled, her eyes wide, focussed on the wicked looking whip. It had a leather handle and half a dozen leather thongs which were glistening strangely.

"I created this extra to punish Werewolves," Fenrir smiled. He grabbed one of the thongs and hissed. His skin fumed slightly. "Silver, you know," his smile intensified, relishing the pain. He stepped forward, his heart pounding in anticipation, and little Fenrir twitching in his pants, as he noticed how Alecto fruitlessly tried to shrink away from him. He loved to discipline other Werewolves, especially women and most of all strong-headed women. It aroused him.

Alecto struggled against the ropes as he lifted the whip and brought it near the bare skin of her face. When she wasn't able to move back anymore, he put the leather thongs against her very skin, gently, like caressing her. Alecto screamed as the silver came into contact with her. After a moment Fenrir took the whip away again. "Did you like it as much as I did?"

"You disgusting animal," Alecto screamed, earning herself only a mocking 'tsk' from her captor.

"That only earned you a dozen more, little spitfire," he declared, nearly sounding sad like a disappointed father. "You really need to learn how to behave." Fenrir actually started to hum something while he put the whip on the bedframe right in eyesight of his poor prisoner. Then he sat down, pulling a wicked looking bowie knife from a sheath. He loved this knife. It had been created from some strong steel alloy but had inlays of silver – strong but painful. Alecto shrank back again as he leant forward. He grabbed her left ankle. As she tried to kick him, he put the blade against the sole of her bare foot for a second. When her scream of pain ended, he scolded her nearly friendly: "be careful. I don't want to cause you needless pain." _Only needful pain_, he thought with a grin.

Slowly he started to cut her pants, first the left leg, then the right, before he finished with the rest. Minutes later she was half naked. Alecto had stopped to fight and was now sobbing. She had expected something like this should her attempt fail. Still, the reality was even worse. Suddenly she felt his knee on her back, keeping her in place. His fingers started to caress her bare bottom. "Yes, I think it missed me," she heard the grin in his voice. Alecto started kicking around and to struggle against the ropes, but it didn't accomplish more than rise his arousal.

Seconds later he pressed the silvery blade on her bottom and her screams filled the air.

.

_**Golden City**_

.

_**Antonin Dolohov**_

There it was again: this feeling of being unable to move.

Antonin Dolohov struggled in his sleep. He tried to break his bindings, to move his arms, his legs or any part of his body. At least he was able to look around. It was almost dark around him. A big window above showed the night sky. A few lights illuminated the hall around him but barely. It was difficult to recognize any details. The anger off being bound was clouding his sight. Rage filled him for being humiliated like this. It was undeserving… Dolohov hesitatingly continued the weird thought. It was undeserving of a Dark Lord to be treated like this.

Dolohov frowned, not realizing that he was able to move his face. He wasn't the Dark Lord. He was Antonin Dolohov. Weren't these his own feelings? Was his Lord somehow able to send him his thoughts? This would mean he was still alive, prisoner somewhere, magically bound apparently and unable to move. This would explain a lot. He knew about the Horcruxes, as he belonged to not even a handful of Death Eaters who knew about them. Lucius had known before he died and naturally Bella had some inkling – not that she would really care.

So they hadn't been able to kill him. Or they hadn't dared to kill him, fearing that he would return – again. Because of this they had captured him, bound him magically and kept him hidden. Certainly… he hesitated again, his eyes widening. That's why they're looking for him and Madam Guille. Yes, he knew of the search, had expected it even. However, they weren't interested in him but in the object he was hiding. They wanted to find the last of the Horcruxes and destroy them. Once successful, they would aim to kill the Dark Lord, too.

He couldn't allow that to happen.

He had to find him first.

Dolohov moved, the rigor suddenly vanishing, the connection broken. He was in his room again. He was Antonin Dolohov again. He had things to do.

Now.

.

_**Madam Ancuille**_

After his awakening he had felt cold sweat on his forehead for hours – hours he had spent in a flurry of activities.

It was time now to calm down again, time to enjoy himself. Nodding towards the guard he entered the room where Madam Ancuille was kept as his "guest" since her rescue from Azkaban. She had been relieved, yes, but also tense and with a sense of foreboding. Antonin Dolohov had never liked her, nor hidden his disgust for her. The fact that she followed the Dark Lord's command and protected Bellatrix LeStrange even against Dolohov's machinations, hadn't improved her standing with him. And now she was in his hands, completely at his mercy.

As Dolohov entered the room, Madam Ancuille immediately left her place at the table and bowed deeply. Dolohov sneered. As if subservience would save her. Yes, he liked when women knew her place, but it had to be an honest emotion – or at least faked in a believable way. Ancuille only acted like this because she feared for her life. He could smell fear in the air around her. She was pale and near fainting, and not only as a result of her stay at Azkaban.

"What can I do for you, Master Dolohov? How may I be of assistance?" Her voice trembled despite her ridiculous attempts to hide it. She was your typical bully: only brave when in the stronger position or with a stronger person backing her up. If left on her own, she immediately lost all willpower. He needed followers like her. Didn't mean he had to like them.

"Tell me – in detail – what happened in that room when the rest of us fought for our lives. What happened to dear Bella? How had she been able to escape? Tell me everything, Madam Ancuille. Don't overlook a single detail." He commanded, watching her through narrowed eyes – eyes that promised her 'encouragement' should she lack in enthusiasm. "Tell me everything."

.

_**Ophelia Nott**_

The conversation had been utterly unsuccessful. Madam Ancuille had told him a story that wasn't making any sense and it became more and more clear that someone had messed with her memory. The story about Bella's escape had obviously been believable enough to let the Aurors trust her, but Dolohov knew better. Some details simply didn't add up. No, she was hiding something without knowing it herself.

_Blasted!_

His own abilities with memory charms were good enough to cast, but he didn't trust them to lift this kind of work, to restore her memories. It had always been Snape who had been called for those cases. Regretfully, it wouldn't do to call him now. Perhaps he had even been the one to place the charm on her in the first place. He had been there on that day. Even the newspapers named his participation, called him a hero.

_Ha, hero_, Dolohov sneered_. I'd call him a blood traitor_.

That didn't help him today. He had no Snape, he had no other competent mind healer at hand. For now he had to leave the case to rest, until another opportunity arose.

Antonin Dolohov walked through the corridors of his hidden base, Theo Nott at his side. He had been very silent, barely saying a word and slowly the silence grinded on Nott's nerves.

"Stop fidgeting around," Dolohov growled suddenly. He liked Nott nearly as much as Ancuille; had only rescued him because of his promise – his own promise and that of Theo Nott regarding his sweet little sister. For a moment a smile crossed Dolohov's face. She wouldn't like the news – not one bit. It was a thought that made him happy.

.

"You did what?" Ophelia snarled, using her tongue like a whip. Dolohov was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, and watched the show enfold. She could snarl and cry, scream and rampage – but in the end she had to comply, in the end he would get the girl. Or woman in this case, he grinned, his eyes wandering over her curves. She had an incredible ass and her chest wasn't too bad either. She had a beautiful face, not in a classic sense but more of the sensual kind. She was more Bizet's Carmen than Shakespeare's Juliet. Her clothes were hugging her sexy frame and for a minute he allowed his mind to drift, dreamed about ripping her clothes off, shackling and whipping her into submissiveness. He would need to do that, he had no doubt. She had real fire. And he would have to be careful around her. He wouldn't trust her with a knife around his throat, that was for certain. He shuddered in anticipation. _Sexy_.

"How could you do that to me?"

Theo Nott behaved like a little boy getting scolded by his mother after being caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He certainly wasn't a wizard to be feared at the moment, no Death Eater causing fear and terror in his victims. Antonin Dolohov frowned. He wondered how this puny boy had ever been able to get accepted into the inner circle. His sister certainly deserved it ten times more. Not that he would ever accept women in their holy circle.

"He saved me, Pheli," Theo gulped. "Without him I wouldn't have been able to escape." He left out the small detail of Dolohov only rescuing after he got the promise to marry off his sister to his rescuer.

"And that means… what to me?" Ophelia snarled. Pure Slytherin, Dolohov grinned. He shuddered again, dreaming about turning her around, bending her over that table over there, and lifting her robes…

_She would need a good caning first_, he grinned. _Not too strong, naturally; it won't do to break that porcelain skin of hers_.

"Pheli," Theo screamed, using that awful nickname again. Even Dolohov knew how much she hated it. Only Roxanne Pinegrew was allowed to call her this. _Roxanne_, Dolohov frowned. Ophelia was too close to that blasted woman. The relationship was tense since Ophelia's participation in the raid on Pinegrew Manor. Still, he had to be careful and dissolve any friendship between the women. "I would have died without him."

"Then," Ophelia snarled "perhaps _you_ should marry him."

Theo paled and glanced towards Dolohov. His master's small smile allowed Nott to relax a bit. "Don't be silly," he snarled back. "It's a great honour."

"Honour?" Ophelia asked grimacing. "For you or for me?"

"For our house," Theo responded, getting more forceful slowly. Perhaps there was still a man hidden somewhere in this heap of frightened shit. "I promised it and you will obey me, Ophelia. You will marry him."

Using her full name apparently told her how serious her brother was. Still she wasn't willing to give up today. "Get out," she commanded icily, speaking to her brother but obviously meaning Dolohov as well.

"You will obey me," Theo declared, his face telling Dolohov that he was happy to oblige for now. Seconds later he had left the room, while Dolohov addressed the untamed fury one last time.

"I got you a new dress. I expect you to wear it tonight." With a few fast steps he left the room and closed the door only to hear something shatter against it, accompanied by a scream of fury.

_Educating her will be fun_, he grinned, _oh yes_.

.

_**Cottage near Nottingham**_

.

"Magic doesn't exist," Henry Broden said, not for the first time.

Healer Smythers simply shrugged. "Fine with me. Anything that lets you sleep at night." Suddenly her face turned into a happy grin. "Shall I stop healing you? I mean… if it's only fraud."

Henry looked down at his arm. There had been a deep, painful cut only minutes before. Now there was only a small white scar and the pain was gone. He sank back into his pillow and closed his eyes. How could this happen to him? What exactly had happened to him? This other woman… she called herself Bellatrix while this woman named her Umbridge. Whatever her name was, she was mad. She had been torn between exuberant joy and raging anger. She alternated between hugging and torturing him so far.

"No, go on," he said with exhaustion in his voice, without opening his eyes. "She's really mad, isn't she?"

"Mad as a hatter," Healer Smythers agreed. She grinned as Broden opened his eyes only to stare at her. Smythers shrugged: "I know 'Alice in Wonderland' too, you know?"

"Why is she behaving like this? Is it the…" He hesitated.

"The magic?" He nodded. "Do you think I'm mad as well?" She asked with a tough grin.

He hastened to shake his head. "No, certainly not," he coughed. "Not at all!"

It only prompted her to grin even more. "You should work on your believability."

"I never had problems with that," he pouted, earning him a soft dap to the cheek.

"Why is she calling me…," he pondered, his forehead in wrinkles, eager to change the subject.

"Rastaban LeStrange?"

"Yeah, that."

"She believes she is Bellatrix LeStrange. 'Her' husband Rodolphus died a few months ago. Rastaban was his brother, 'her' brother-in-law. Now she believes he – you – to be her last living relative."

"So this is what? Sibling love? Should I feel honoured?"

Smythers shrugged. "Irrespective of how you feel about it: it's what she thinks."

"But why?"

Smythers frowned and pondered about it for a while. "She needs something to steady herself, an anchor. And apparently you look similar enough to him."

"I really look like that guy?"

"I don't know for sure. I have only seen a few pictures of him, especially after he flew from Azkaban – our prison."

"How sweet," he growled. "I'm not only a madwoman's sibling but also an escaped fugitive."

Smythers grinned. "At least you're important to her. Actually, I don't think she – Umbridge I mean, not the real Bellatrix – knows Rastaban very well herself."

"Shouldn't I explain…?"

"That you aren't… you?"

Broden nodded.

Smythers shook her head. "What do you think she would do – would she actually believe you and not torture you for your silliness until you believe it yourself?"

Broden shuddered. "Set me free?"

Smythers' amused sniff told him otherwise. "More likely she'd kill you instantly because you'd be useless to her."

"Splendid," Broden groaned. "So I have the choices to die, to get tortured or to… to do what?"

"Play Rastaban," Smythers grinned. "Be nice to her, seduce her perhaps."

Broden paled. Seduce that woman? "She's…" _ugly_.

"Yeah, she is," Smythers happily agreed. "Have fun and enjoy yourself."

.

_**Ministry of Magic – Office of Amelia Bones**_

.

Amelia Bones was slightly fuming when Kingsley and the other Senior Aurors left her office – nothing new there. Her mood hadn't been the best these past few weeks, with no promising leads for all the work and exhaustion invested in the searches. Brychan Camwy knew he had a mission tonight: do everything possible to make Amelia enjoy the evening and relax a bit. It would be hard work, but a work he loved to endure. There were still moments, from time to time, when Amelia wondered about the wisdom of their relationship, but slowly she seemed to accept the fact that Brychan wouldn't go anywhere in the near future.

"Your mind is in the gutter again, isn't it?" Amelia growled suddenly. Brychan grinned but blushed a bit. He actually had been imagining where their date could be leading tonight. He loved the fact that Amelia was as commanding, in bed as much as out of it. In the beginning she had been a tad shy to let go, to express her wishes. However, he had been able to convince her otherwise and since then their nights had been incredible – incredibly good, incredibly wild; and incredibly exhausting.

He coughed into his fist to overplay the moment. "There is something else," he changed the topic "unconnected with the rest – or so I hope at last." His expression turned sour and he had Amelia's complete interest.

"What about?" Amelia asked with a slight frown, their date forgotten for a moment.

"It's about Scrimgeour," Brychan sighed. He didn't like the man, didn't trust him and hated to spend time observing the man. He knew how important it was but he didn't have to like the activity.

"Rufus?" Amelia wondered. "What did he do now? Caused some international indicent?" Delbert Hastings, the relatively new head of the 'Department of International Magical Cooperation' – who had been in office since Bartemius Crouch's untimely death a good year ago – was still struggling to make his name known among the wizards and witches both within and outside Britain. After Percy Weasley's move into Amos Diggory's department, there had been a position to fill, now staffed by none else than Rufus Scrimgeour.

The news of his new appointment had been disturbing and a bit troubling. Secretary of the department head had been a most reasonable post for Percy, a position with not too many responsibilities but more than enough opportunities to meet people and make contacts; the right thing for an aspiring young man. He held a similar position now as Amos' right hand man and, according to Diggory, did a splendid job. Percy Weasley had grown up immensely this year, to a great extent thanks to his old and new girlfriend Penelope Clearwater.

Scrimgeour however had been a leader. He had been her deputy and she had expected to see him as a head of some more or less important department or sub-department of the Ministry. Now he was demoted to a paper-pusher job and the question was: why?

Hadn't there been any other opportunity?

Was Rufus hoping to see his boss fall – perhaps by helping things along a little?

Whatever his intention and reasoning: Rufus didn't have the best reputation regarding his behaviour and very outspoken worldview. He was a follower of that 'colonial master' mindset that had been widespread among British nobility of the 19th Century. He saw Britain above the rest of the countries – completely disregarding anything that could be called 'hard facts' – and more than once had to be called off because he treated a European official like some savage from a half-forgotten Pacific Island. He certainly didn't help magical Britain to gain the other countries' trust and only Amelia's good connections – and surprisingly those of Minister Fudge – had so far been able to smooth the waves. _Perhaps it was time to fire him_. Amelia sighed. She feared that she would have to speak with his boss at the next monthly department head meeting anyway.

At least it had been funny to see Rufus make an ass out of himself. This however, according to Brychan's face, was far more serious. Her secretary and not-so-hidden lover put a piece of paper on her table, a paper containing some kind of list in the hand-writing of Marv Grooler, a mid-level official in the international department and one of the many contacts Brychan had established within the Ministry.

"What's this?" Amelia asked after a glance.

"That's the list of papers Rufus demanded to see from the department archive."

Amelia frowned and studied the list more closely. At first glance there wasn't anything incorrect about it. Rufus certainly had a right to see those papers, most of them leading to some kind of professional interest. However, it was the sheer mass of papers and the theme that was disturbing.

"This," Brychan put a second list on her table "is a list of everything else he demanded to see from the archive in the same period of time." It was far shorter and more widespread in subjects.

"So more than three quarters of his inquiries were about our cooperation with Denmark, France and Spain?"

"Yes," Brychan nodded. "With the upcoming meeting of Minister Fudge with his colleagues from the Commonwealth countries, he should be occupied with far different matters right now, not with details about the cooperation between us four ministries." After a heavy sigh he continued. "Instead he's reading up on meeting protocols, cooperation agendas and even travel expense reports."

"Any idea what he's about?"

"None that I would like."

Amelia frowned deeply. "You think he's spying for Dolohov?"

"Not so much for Dolohov, but perhaps for those conservative circles that are so outspoken against the cooperation. It looks like he's trying to dig up some dirt against the Minister."

Amelia snickered without humour. "Who would have thought that we'd work on keeping Fudge in his office one day?"

"He turned into a fairly competent Minister," Brychan declared earnestly. "We could do far worse. And he has been loyal so far."

"He has been, yes," Amelia agreed. "Alright, alright, we continue to support him; so it means we have to find Rufus' reasons for working on this matter."

"Tailing?" Brychan asked, looking unhappy.

"Tailing," Amelia nodded sadly. "But careful. He was an Auror. I don't want to cause too much trouble, not right now. We have more than enough on our plate without Rufus crying bloody murder."

"That we have. Alright, I'll organize something."

.

_**Somewhere far away**_

.

"NO!"

She rolled back and forth in her bed, her skin glistening with sweat, red from the heat.

"No, I never betrayed you." She mumbled in her sleep, her eyes restless, and her breath panting. Her hands clenched the edge of her blanket in pure fear, her legs moved like she felt the urge to run. She didn't sense the other person in the room, watching her with wide eyes full of fear and concern.

Narcissa Black slowly stepped forward. With a few flicks of her wand she transformed a plate into a bowl, filled it with water and summoned a piece of cloth. She sat down at her sister's side and dipped the cloth into the water, only to put it onto her forehead. For a while her sister stayed restless, turning left and right, behaving like she wanted to flee somewhere or from something. It needed some time before she calmed down and her sleep got more restful.

"What are you doing to me, Bella," Narcissa mumbled. It wasn't the first night her sister had been like this. She had feared this to happen, but had hoped the memory charms would hold better – and longer. Bella had always been incredible stubborn and headstrong. Even Severus' work wouldn't keep the truth from her for too long. Still, Narcissa had hoped it would keep her calm and safe until Harry and Amelia had been able to permanently close the case of Tom Riddle. Narcissa felt Bella's mark burning under the glamour. It was a sure sign of the Dark Lord still being alive and mentally active. He was calling for his followers and Bella felt it more than most others.

"Please," Narcissa prayed to the powers above. "Please give her peace, for a few more months at least." Narcissa knew that she would lose her sister as soon as she knew the truth. Perhaps Bella would even attack her. In any case this time would have an end, this time of sisterhood; one of the best times of her life. "Please let the peace continue."

.

_**Somewhere near Birmingham**_

.

Antonin Dolohov wrinkled his nose as he followed the Werewolf through the streets of Birmingham. The young man was quite muscular, with an aura of savagery around him, and smelled less pleasant than a garbage can. He already knew beforehand that Fenrir Greyback mostly drew the bottom shares of the Scandinavian Werewolf tribes to his folds. The sight and smell around him was only proof of that simple fact.

_It was disgusting._

The people around him looked far too skinny and were clothed in rags. Most of them appeared drunk or under the influence of drugs. Once he saw a couple of them snarling at each other, ready to throw punches without the presence of their leader. Even the man leading him through this mess, apparently one of the more trustworthy and mentally stable of the pack, wasn't someone he would invite for tea.

They entered a house at last. It was cleaner than the others but only by a trifle. Dolohov's good sense of smell was shocked by the rich bouquet of death and decay, blood and flesh in the air. They used the stairs to reach the first floor and entered a kind of gathering room. Half a dozen Werewolves were loitering around, eating and drinking, gambling and cursing. They were served by three young women, all lightly dressed with much skin visible to the lecherous stares. It all looked like a cheap imitation of some Arabian Nights feast.

Dolohov froze as he realized the identity of one of the woman. Standing over there, with shackles around her ankles and serving wine to Fenrir, was Alecto Carrow. Legs, arms and back were bare and the dress – if he wanted to call the tiny piece of cloth a dress – was barely hiding the rest. Dozens of marks adorned her body, mostly little burns and scars from whipping. She still looked haughty and wild, with fire in her eyes. Alecto wasn't broken – yet.

"Sit down, Antonin, sit down," Fenrir gestured towards the divan to his left. He pulled the chain that was fastened to a leather collar around Alecto's neck. "Serve our guest, wench."

She glared but obeyed. Without much enthusiasm she offered Dolohov a goblet and poured him some wine. For a moment fear and hoped flickered in her eyes as she stared into Dolohov's, but it instantly vanished again. Fenrir pulled her chain again and forced her to sit down at his feet. Alecto flinched as Fenrir's hand caressed her arm.

"She's a nice piece of flesh; don't you think so, Antonin?" Fenrir asked. Dolohov felt disgusted, both by the spectacle as by the audacity to use his given name. He narrowed his eyes as Fenrir leant forward and grabbed Alecto's breast to squeeze and knead it. The woman's face told him that this was a common occurrence. "I would offer her to you for a little fun tonight," Fenrir continued "but I already promised her to Sascha." A big brute sitting aside the young Werewolf that had led Dolohov to this fine meeting, grinned lewdly.

"We'll have much fun tonight, little spitfire," he mocked. Alecto gulped but stared back in defiance. She wouldn't show weakness.

"But don't forget, Sascha," Fenrir reminded him. "No permanent damage and her ass belongs to me."

_Disgusting_, Antonin Dolohov inwardly fumed_. They're animals, savage animals_.

.

_**Somewhere in Central Africa**_

.

It was hot. It was humid. It was so… green.

Hafsa followed the narrow path through the jungle, leading her from one unimportant village to the next. Three days ago she had entered the Dark Continent by plane and since then she had been visiting many unimportant places far away from anything that could be called civilized.

Hafsa had to admit to herself that she enjoyed it nonetheless. It reminded her of her youth, a time so far away that it was difficult to find written documents about it. A village like the one she left behind two hours ago had been her home for the first part of her life. She had been a herdswoman like her mother and grandmother before her, while the men of their big family had been in charge of the hunt. Each adult had been trained in the use of weapons, even the girls. Hafsa had always been extremely adept at handling bladed weapons and her aim with the javelin was famous among the tribes around. It was a good time, a content time despite her urge to have more, to see more, to experience more.

It all changed when _they _came: a wild new tribe led by a trio of bloodthirsty Vampires. They wiped out whole villages and Hafsa's home was one of the victims. She nearly died if not for a stranger appearing in the night. He rescued her by turning her into one of his own. He trained her, taught her everything and allowed her to take revenge. She hunted them down, caught them and killed them – slowly. Their screams of pain filled the nights for weeks. The last one lasted nearly three months. Afterwards she had felt empty. There was nothing the future could hold for her, no aim, no destiny, and no reason for existing.

Again the stranger stepped into her Unlife. Again he took her under his wings. If she thought she had learned to fight before, he now showed her how wrong she had been. For more than a century she followed him around, learning, training and assisting him in his tasks. Because he was an assassin; he belonged to a holy order of assassin that had been in existence for more than two thousand years already. Forty-four victims carried her sigil before he presented her to his elders and she was announced an assassin master herself. Many more followed, many more died under her dagger, before she met him: Richard Madsin, her nemesis. Her love.

.

_**Castle Montsegur – Southern France**_

.

Pascal Deveraux, Baron du Val des Loupes, barely glanced up from his book when the other Vampire entered the room. He absent-mindedly gestured him to take a seat and continued to read for a while. From time to time his hand found its way to the goblet on the sideboard, filled with a strong odour of of mixed blood, herbs and a hint of tequila. It was his little lapse of taste and always caused his friends to grimace by watching him drinking it.

Richard Madsin sat down, careful not to squash the chair with his weight or to break the armrest with his bulky frame. He exchanged an amused smile with the third member of their little group but otherwise waited in silence. Pascal had started to read Schopenhauer again, this time the German original, and took a slightly ill delight in comparing it with the French translation he had been reading a century ago. Sometimes his master was a bit weird, but it was a cute kind of weirdness. It could certainly be worse. He could start some Vampire world war or make a habit of bathing in the blood of children three times a week like one of his predecessors had done according to rumours. Yes, reading Schopenhauer was certainly preferable.

With a sharp noise Pascal Deveraux closed his book and put it down on the table. Turning around his eyes bore into Richard, his formerly relaxed posture now at complete awareness and attention. "What news do you bring?"

"She's still searching for Madam Guille," Richard announced. "She followed a few leads we had from other sources and found others on her own. Now she's tracking one of Guille's lackeys, who's trying to get control over some of the more influential covens down there."

"How successful has Guille been in gaining support?"

"There are nine Covens in all. Two declared neutrality, three declared their support of Guille's cause. A fourth has been convinced by Hafsa to change their opinion." Richard's grin told Pascal that Hafsa had to enforce her will through bloodshed. His right hand man couldn't deny his preference for a more aggressive style at playing politics. "The last three are still inconsistent. Apparently there will be a meeting next week, with both sides presenting their agenda."

"Anything we could do to help her?" Pascal damned the fact – again – that his influence was barely noteworthy in that part of Africa. Naturally, exactly that had been Guille's reason to go there.

"Not much," Richard shrugged. "Our open support could even prove counter-productive. Officially she's working on her own so far."

"I could send her a few pawns of Vis," the third member of their circle interjected. "Two of the covens in question have influential witch doctors among them. I wouldn't like to make long-term arrangements about Vis, but a limited offering would be alright."

Pascal, despite his broad knowledge, had only a limited grasp of what his old friend was speaking about. Vis was some kind of physical magic, usable in all kind of magical rituals. 'Pawn' was simply a quantity unit, used by his order because a 'pawn of Vis' meant a special amount of magic, not an exact weight or size. It was similar to the Vulcan stone Neville Longbottom got a few weeks ago and they were incredible valuable.

"Thank you, old friend," Pascal accepted with a bow. He didn't offer recompense because his friend would be offended – and he had no real way to repay such an offer.

"That would certainly help," Richard agreed. "I'll arrange the delivery."

"Then let's hope she'll be successful in her… diplomacy."

.

_**Pinegrew Manor**_

.

"He's missing her," Daphne sighed, while bending down to fetch a bottle of iced sherbet from the blanket.

"Huh?" Harry's answer wasn't exactly an example of eloquence but to his vindication: he was direly distracted.

Daphne, a tad confused by the incoherent answer, turned around only to notice her boyfriend's eyes lingering on her bottom and thighs, currently clad in a form-fitting sweat pants. They had spent the last two hours doing workout in the garden and decided to make a little break, a picnic blanket arriving just in time thanks to a caring Ciddy.

"Git," she scolded him, not very seriously as she enjoyed his 'trained chest in a sweat-snug tee' look just as well. They had trained three times a week since school year's end and it was showing.

"Wench," he teased back, mock trying to grab her waist as she easily dodged. He would turn sixteen in a few days and Daphne three weeks later as well. Like Hermione and Neville he had spent far too much time these past months thinking about the 'next step' of their relationship and when to take it. It became more and more difficult to stay a gentleman and Daphne's teasing behaviour didn't help. So he was thankful for her to return to her earlier statement.

"He's missing her," Daphne repeated. "Neville missing Hermione, I mean."

Harry shrugged. "He'll survive. She'll be back in a few weeks."

Daphne frowned. "Don't tell me you don't miss her as well. She hasn't written for weeks and…" She stopped, irritated by Harry's flinching. Before he had time to recover, Daphne jumped him and pushed him on his back. Sitting on his chest, fuming, she convinced him that this wasn't the moment for some silly remarks like "if you need my body this much…"

Instead he looked a tad frightened and legitimately so. "She has written to you." It was a statement, not a question. "Why didn't you tell me?" She paled and her expression turned into concern. "What happened?"

"She's alright," Harry attempted to calm her without much success.

"You would have told me if nothing bad had happened."

Harry sighed. "Everything is alright – again. I didn't want to trouble you – or Neville. Hermione begged me not to tell him, because he certainly would have ended his family time prematurely and gone looking for her."

"So something did happen?" Daphne calmed down a bit, knowing now that Hermione was okay. It didn't cool down her ire. Harry gestured for her to let him up, and she slumped onto the blanket, allowing him to sit up. "What happened?"

Harry had to spend the next hour to tell a more and more agitated Daphne what had happened in Sudan. She had far more questions than he answers. Only the fact that Hermione had begged him to stay silent about the matter rescued him from getting throttled.

"So she met some nomads, led by a Fire Mage?" Harry nodded.

"And they want her to return later and use her Water Elemental Magic to search for water and train some of their youth?"

"Apparently," Harry nodded. "Hermione wants to convince Neville to accompany her."

"She's thinking about creating resistant water caverns together with him," Daphne guessed.

"Yep," Harry agreed, popping the 'p'. "And she wants to convince them to continue my own training in Fire Magic. Apparently it runs strong in the family line of the nomads' leader."

"But Dan Granger is alright?"

"Yes," Harry sighed. "He could have escaped easily, but he wanted to stay with the other abductees."

Daphne frowned with a weak smile. "Hero complex – seems familiar to me."

"A Granger family trait, obviously," Harry grinned.

"Not only a Granger trait," Daphne joked back.

"See," Harry's grin broadened. "I can't do anything about it, it's in my blood."

"It's no excuse for rash behaviour," she scolded him, accompanied by a light slap to the shoulder.

"Ouch!" He mock screamed. "Help, help, I'm getting tortured."

"It's called education," Daphne deadpanned with a raised single eyebrow. "You're in dire need of it."

"Do you know what I direly need as well?" He smiled, slowly leaning forward.

"No idea," Daphne played dumb while not backing down.

"A kiss."

.

_**A/N**_

_**Please have a look at the newest poll. It's about who should duel Albus after Filius learning some new details from the diary. **_


	8. Chapter 8 Preparing the B-Day

_**A/N**_

"_{Speech}" = mental speech_

_As promised: this chapter is quartet time mostly._

**.**

**Preparing the D-Day**

.

_**Pinegrew Manor – 20**__**th**__** of July**_

.

"And there's no chance you'll change your mind about this?" Daphne's pout was adorable. She learned it from the best, in this case her mother. Spiritualist Nowles however was far too old to fall for this transparent trick. She had been around for more decades than she liked to remember and for more than fifty years she had been a family friend of the Pinegrews. She had seen exactly the same pout on Roxanne's face and on Agatha's before her times and times again.

"Nope," Nel popped the 'p' like a ten year old and her grin wasn't far more mature. However it did its job and Daphne stopped her grumbling, pleading and begging – at least for the moment.

For the last thirty minutes she had – not for the first time this month – tried to convince Nel to execute the Cleansing Ritual before Harry's birthday.

"It would be such an incredible birthday present," Daphne wailed.

"It will be an incredible birthday present too if we do it on August the first as planned," Nel deadpanned unmoving. "We decided months ago that we needed time for training. And we equally decided to do this after Harry turns sixteen. I see no reason to change it now. You do know that Harry has no problem with the date?"

Daphne mumbled something incomprehensible.

"Speak louder," Nel growled.

Daphne sighed and grimaced. "That's because he…" She sighed again, her grimace deepening. "He fears the ritual."

"Naturally he fears it," Nel responded with a shrug. "He's clever."

Daphne paled. "So there is still a danger?"

Her stupid question got her a slap but no immediate answer. She had to wait for Nel to explain, while getting more and more restless. She had always hoped that with all the training, with the endless sessions preparing on her own, with Nel or with Harry, that the ritual wouldn't be more than a formality, a safe bet. Nel's face told her now that this wasn't the case.

"There will always be some danger," Nel answered at last. "The scar had been part of him for a long time. It is nearly wedded to him, nearly inseparable." Nel played with a small figurine she had always in her pocket. Daphne knew the figurine by heart. It was a present from Nel's first lover and in her possession for more than a century. She shuddered a bit, thinking about Nel and a lover – together. That certainly was a picture she didn't need in her head. The figurine had long lost its edges and was nearly unidentifiable now from all the handling. Nel kneading it like this was a sign of uneasiness on her part. And an uneasy Nel made Daphne nervous.

"You know my opinion about Headmaster Dumbledore." Daphne nodded curtly. Nel didn't possess the burning hate of the Pinegrew or the Longbottom women, Hermione included, but she thought him to be some kind of a short-sighted idiot without any ability to see the worth of emotions. He only regarded humans as chess pieces and their emotions as levers to move them around on the board.

"In one matter he has been correct: we have to get rid of the scar to defeat Tom permanently. And under any other circumstances there would have been no choice than to let Harry die and the scar with him. Without you there would have been no other way to end this."

Daphne flinched but bravely retorted: "you could have done it."

"No," Nel shook her head. "We need both in one person: someone who trusts and knows Harry and has his complete and utter trust in return; and someone able to use the powers of a spirit healer. Both in one are needed to do the job. I don't have the trust nor Hermione the knowledge. She can't learn the required spells and I would need years to get the necessary trust and connection to him, if it is even possible with decades in experience and mindset separating us. Even with you I would like to wait another year…" She stopped Daphne's flare with a wave of her hand. "I know, I know. I won't wait any longer. I only said that I would like to. Still there is a danger, for both of you. A single second of hesitation, a single moment of disappointment while viewing each other's mind and all will be lost. This is not like back then when you healed Alice. You can't contain the scar through Occlumency. Do it or fail utterly. This will be a question of yes or no. I don't want to scare you, Daphne. The chances are really good that we'll succeed. However, on the other hand, I won't lie to you: this won't be risk free."

"Should I tell him?" Daphne asked, before sighing deeply and answering her own question. "Yes, I should." She had felt angry about Hermione not telling Neville the story of her father being abducted and her living with some Nomads for a while. Remaining silent about this would be worse – and she a hypocrite.

"Yes, you should," Nel agreed. "You already have the necessary knowledge. Now you have to eradicate the last remains of… of distance between the both of you. You have to share your minds, your knowledge and most of all your dreams, hopes and emotions. There can't be a Harry and a Daphne but only…"

"Only Darry?" Daphne asked with an uneasy grin.

"Something like that, yes." Nel patted Daphne's arm. "You'll succeed, Daphne. I have faith in you."

_If only I had this faith too_, Daphne groaned silently. _If only…_

.

_**Interlude One – Harry's ol' friend**_

.

He was sitting in the beautiful pavilion at the edge of the garden, overlooking a small pond and with huge trees, planted more than fifty years ago, providing shade. It was an incredible afternoon. Daphne was preparing for their little trip to London Heathrow, where they intended to pick up Hermione and get her to her boyfriend, anxiously awaiting her return.

Harry wasn't certain what convinced him to visit this place today. It was a feeling that he was needed here. Perhaps it was the fireplace between pavilion and pond, a spot he had used more than once this year for some of his smaller fire rituals. He liked the place. Here he felt near to all four elements. It was more balanced than the magically far stronger location they had used to prepare for their last attack on ol' Tom's hideout. That cave had been very strong in its elemental magic, but only contained Earth and Fire. Here was the water of the pond and the air of the treetops as well. Harry closed his eyes and exhaled a deep breath of contentment. _He would be here very soon_, he felt it.

For a while he stayed like this, enjoying the moment, the calmness. Lately he rarely had time to relax by himself. He loved Daphne dearly, loved to be together with her, but sometimes he needed this as well. A motion to his right accompanied by a soft clattering noise reminded him of the fact that he wasn't completely alone. With a soft smile on his face, Harry watched Balou as he was staring at… something… in the grass. Perhaps it was a tiny mouse or simply a spider enjoying the sun. Whatever it was, Balou was watching it closely, his whole body betraying his attention, and the tail his excitement. Another one of his four pet friends was also there, the one closest to him and in a way belonging to his family too. On one of the branches of one of the trees, hidden by hundreds of leaves even from Harry's keen eye, was Hedwig resting, waiting like Harry.

Three days ago there had been a serious conversation between Daphne and Nel. Daphne had told him about it afterwards. Nine days, that was the timeframe he had to think about. In nine days they would undergo his ritual and he would be free. After nearly fifteen years he would get rid of the scar at last. Daphne told him about the dangers and he had been happy about it. Harry hated to be in the dark about such things, about someone treating him like a child or trying to "protect his feelings".

It was Daphne's right to decide if she wanted to help him despite the grave dangers to her own sanity.

It was his right to know all facts and decide if he wanted to undergo the ritual. His decision had been positive. He would enjoy these nine days and hope for the best. Today he would see one of his best friend again and with a bit of luck he would be able to arrange something important as well within the next minutes.

_Where are you, my friend?_

It was like his thought had called him and Harry opened his eyes with a sappy smile as a low crack announced his arrival.

"Hello, old friend," he greeted him with a smile. He got a nod in return, the eyes of his friend telling him that he was happy to see him as well.

"It's good you're here," Harry continued, his expression thoughtful and a bit sad.

He observed him intently, feeling that something had changed about him. It wasn't something physical, nothing outwardly, but hidden in the depths of his being. His essence was the same but altered and Harry gulped as he realized the difference. Hedwig, who had left her resting place and settled on a stump only a couple of paces away, was feeling it too, Harry was certain.

"So you made your decision at last?" His friend nodded again. Harry felt a wave of determination and sadness reaching his heart. "I'm happy but sad at the same time that you needed to do this. It is a gloom time to cancel such a connection and to close up such a strong friendship. I grieve with you, my friend." His friend stepped forward and allowed Harry to hug him, carefully but with much emotion.

"I'll try to be a friend like he was to you in the past – before he changed." Harry felt a wave of trust and happiness hit him and he smiled weakly.

He watched him in silence for a while, uncertain whether he should really tell him what he wanted to. His friend stared back and Harry had the feeling that he knew exactly why Harry had wanted to meet him today. "I have something to ask you, my friend. It would be a great boon to me and it would be an awesome birthday present for Neville, but I don't know if I can really ask it of you." His friend cocked his head like begging him to continue, and after a heavy sigh Harry actually did. "It is your decision, my friend. I will not disappointed if you don't want to do it, but you would make me happy, I have to admit."

His friend nodded his agreement and Harry smiled still a tad sad. "So this is a yes? You will do it?" He sighed. "Alright, so that's how we should do it: in seven days, on Neville's birthday, I will be there, waiting for you…"

.

_**London Heathrow – 23**__**rd**__** of July**_

.

Harry was certain that he felt some of his ribs breaking under the crushing hug of this whirlwind called Hermione Granger. Daphne was standing a few steps away, happy to have him endure the first energy wave of the reunion. Seconds later she had to endure a hug as well, certainly as heartfelt but with less bone-breaking intensity. Crookshanks, who had been waiting on Daphne's arms so far, hastily jumped away and waited for his beloved 'tin opener' to calm down a bit, before he risked to get closer. The sounds coming from Hermione's mouth as she cuddled her cat at last, sounded very much like those a toddler would utter when hugging its baby brother. Crookshanks looked slightly annoyed but endured it nonetheless. He had missed her too, Harry knew.

"Good to see you again, Harry," Dan Granger greeted him with a strong pat that felt like dislocating his shoulder. This was Dan Granger? He looked nothing like the pale, indoor man he had said farewell to last December. This man looked far healthier, had exchanged a stone of fat with an equal amount of muscles, a well-tanned skin and vibrant eyes. If this was the result of spending a few months with "Doctors without Borders", he wanted to do this too. Then his face turned into a broad smile, as he remembered that Hermione had something like this in mind already.

"Good to have you back, Sir," Harry responded, really meaning it. Watching the man more closely, it was easy to detect the reason of his changed appearance. Dan Granger shared this urge to help others with his wife and daughter. He needed the feeling of doing something important and worthwhile, to make an impact on the world. He couldn't do this in his British office but it had been possible in Sudan. Despite the hardship, despite the dangers and the monetary loss: Harry had no doubt that Dan Granger would return. And from the look of Emma Granger's face she would accompany him as soon as Hermione's time at Hogwarts was finished.

A few minutes later, while they waited for the luggage and Daphne interviewed the Grangers about their experience in Sudan, Harry ushered Hermione aside. His thoughtful face prompted her to stop smiling. "What's the matter, Harry? Is something wrong with Neville? Is…"

"Calm down, Hermione," Harry stopped his friend. "Nothing like that. I only," he hesitated for a moment. "I only wanted to tell you that Daphne knows."

Hermione stared at him for a moment, slightly confused, before her face lit up with realization. "You mean…"

"I told her about what happened in Sudan."

Hermione frowned, looking unhappy. "I begged you not to."

"I know, I know," Harry sighed. "But Daphne has her ways, you know her."

Hermione rolled her eyes, her grin returning. "Nibbling at your earlobe?"

"Something like that," Harry grinned back. "Not to forget punching and tickling me until I give up."

Hermione giggled. "I should have tried this tactic years ago to get you to do your assignments."

"Would have been more efficient than your nagging, big sister," Harry agreed.

"Git," Hermione punched his shoulder.

"Hey," Harry complained. "Only Daphne is allowed to do that."

"Nope," Hermione grinned. "I got a written dispense from her."

"I'll have to speak with her about that," Harry grumbled. After a moment he got serious again. "You should really tell Neville. He deserves to know."

Hermione looked unhappy and a bit anxious for a moment. "He won't be happy about my silence."

"No, he won't. Doesn't change the fact that he should know." Suddenly his face exploded into a big grin. "Perhaps you could allow him to spank you a bit in compensation. I'm still certain that nice, little Neville has some dark surprises waiting under his friendly, sweet appearance."

Hermione raised a single eyebrow but couldn't hide her blush completely. "Spanking? Is that how you spent the last weeks with Daphne?"

"What are you two talking about?" Daphne interjected, taking notice of their conversation.

"Harry just mentioned a few last minute birthday presents," Hermione responded with a broad grin.

"Oh, do tell." Now it was Harry's turn to blush a nice Weasley-red.

_How could this conversation turn downhill like this?_ He groaned inwardly.

.

_**Interlude Two – Harry's former mentor**_

.

Like a tiger in its cage he was pouncing around in the little spare room. It had been days since he last dared to leave the house and even then he had to use a strong glamour to alter his appearance and be careful where to bend his steps. Many locations still had defences active against Death Eaters using illusions such like his. Not that he was a Death Eater – or an evil person – but they would detect him just as well.

Today however a different matter troubled his mind. Yesterday he had sensed someone perusing an item he had forgotten to take with him as he fled weeks ago. He simply hadn't kept in mind that there were some old diaries which could be of interest to someone, diaries he should have destroyed years ago. Why would someone read his diaries about the first war against Tom? Who would be reading them right now? They wouldn't help the reader in finding him. However, they certainly would explain a few things about what he had done in the past and why.

Had it been Augusta Longbottom? Albus couldn't really imagine the DMLE allowing Augusta to read his diaries but you never knew with Amelia and her weird way of thinking. Perhaps one of the investigating Aurors hadn't been able to constrain his curiosity. It was impossible to imagine what the reader had done with his knowledge. Albus didn't know exactly what that anonymous person had read, only which book he had opened. It had been the one describing his thoughts and deeds in the years leading up to and ending with Tom's demise. Many, many things were written in there that could be misunderstood, seen in a wrong context and misleading without his deeper knowledge of the circumstances.

_Damned it_, Albus cursed, magic flaring around him for a moment. _Damned it all_, he repeated, a tad calmer and able to control his magic this time. It didn't help. He could do nothing about it. For now he could only wait and pray.

_Worse things happen at sea_, he tried to lighten his mood, failing miserably. _I'll have to read the newspaper. I have to know if the reader has published his knowledge. Damned it, Amelia, why did you allow this to happen?_

.

_**Hogwarts – Office of Headmaster Flitwick – 25**__**th**__** of July**_

.

"This is really a very interesting piece of magic, Miss Granger," Filius Flitwick handled the delicate figurine with loving care. "Thank you to bring this to my attention."

"Can you tell me anything about its magic, Headmaster?" Hermione asked.

She was grateful that Professor Flitwick had instantly agreed to examine the exotic figurine. Since her return to England, Crookshanks had been behaving rather weird. It was as if he knew about the figurine and its connection to him. She wanted to know as soon as possible if it would do what she had been told, to be able to make an educated decision.

"When you first told me about the intended result, I expected to see Transfiguration magic lingering in the figurine. However, I was wrong. It's purely Charms, a spell called 'Remember your Nature' to be exact. It is meant to evoke something in the recipient that allows him to change into a full-fledged member of one of his parent races. I have been thinking about using a very similar spell myself, in the past."

"A spell to turn you into a Goblin?" Hermione wondered, trying to imagine the result and especially the repercussions. It had been difficult enough to put Professor Flitwick on this chair. Even the most tolerant Governors wouldn't allow a full Goblin to stay Headmaster.

"Yes," Filius nodded, his smile telling Hermione that he understood her thinking. "However, I wanted to keep my current unique place in the world. Others would certainly say it makes me neither completely human or Goblin, but I deem it more worthy to be a link between both cultures. However, back to the matter at hand. I'm certain that the figurine will do what you have been told. It will allow your tomcat to make a decision: become a 'normal' cat; turn into a full Kneazle; or stay as he is."

"And can you tell me something about the figurine itself? The woman… the woman who gifted it to me," Hermione hesitated. "I had the impression that the figurine had a hidden meaning."

Filius shrugged. "I'm not certain. The spell itself is a very special one and she has to have a very intensive and close connection to Kneazles to be able to cast it on the figurine. Even I couldn't do the same. The figurine itself is hand-crafted and very old. It is surprisingly good in shape. Certainly it had been protected somehow, perhaps stored away for all this time."

"How old is the figurine?" Hermione asked, anxiously anticipating the answer.

"Between twenty and twenty-five centuries," Filius answered. "A very fine piece of Egyptian culture it is. You should certainly keep it afterwards."

"I will, Headmaster," Hermione mumbled. "I certainly will."

.

Hermione had just said her farewell and wanted to leave the office, as she noticed Filius' faraway look. There had been something strange about his mood but so far he had hidden it well. Only now he allowed it to bleed through. Hesitating for a moment only, Hermione closed the door and took her place again.

Startled, Filius looked up: "Something else on your mind, Miss Granger?"

"Not on mine," she shook her head "but obviously on yours."

"I don't know…" Filius tried a smile but stumbled as Hermione raised a single eyebrow in a very Minerva-style.

"I would have to be blind and deaf not to notice that something grave is troubling you. Please tell me… Filius." Hermione used his given name with consideration. It was a sign of her not speaking as his student, but as his friend and battle-sister.

Filius smiled weakly, looking thoughtful for a while until he nodded slowly. "Alright, I'll tell you. But you have to remain resolutely silent about this, even towards your friends."

"I promise," Hermione declared, for a second wondering if it had been the right decision to ask.

"You know that Kings bade me to have a look at Albus' manor, peruse his documents and search for hints about his hideout?"

"Yes, Harry told me about it. Did you find something?"

"Yes, but not what I was looking for." His face turned grey and sad. "Not what I had hoped to find and certainly nothing I ever wanted to read." He sighed with a shudder. "And now I don't know what to do with the knowledge."

"Can you tell me some details?"

"I fear not. Not that I don't trust you…" He hesitated and shrugged. "In a way, yes, I can't tell you because I don't trust you, or more exactly, I don't trust your temper."

Hermione scowled but allowed Filius to continue.

"I know you well enough, Hermione. You wouldn't be able to not act on that knowledge. You wouldn't be able to keep your knowledge away from your friends. And even if you wouldn't try to find Albus and kill him, Neville certainly would."

Hermione paled. What could Headmaster Flitwick have found in those papers? She had no idea but it must have been bad, if he assumed that Neville would skip his own grandmother and her plan for revenge…

"I assume you found something about what he did in the past." Filius nodded. "In his diaries perhaps?" Again he nodded. "He hurt someone… gravely?" Filius smiled faintly.

"He did something I hadn't expected him to be able to," he whispered hoarsely.

"Perhaps you should tell the affected person," Hermione suggested. "Perhaps it can be rectified."

"It can't," Filius shook his head. "it can never again be made up for." Hermione watched him completely shocked as Filius actually started to cry. "To tell her… it would break her."

Hermione's mind raced. Who could… "Minerva?!" Only she was close enough to Filius to cause such a reaction.

Filius' head snapped up. "You can't tell her. She can't know… he was her friend."

Realizing something, Hermione got deathly pale. "He did something that was even worse than what he did to the Longbottoms." It was more a statement than a question.

"Far worse, yes."

"You should tell Augusta," Hermione offered, thinking about what Albus Dumbledore could have done that was graver than all the crimes he committed towards the Longbottom family. "She's Minerva's friend and she would be the one to make a decision."

"You really think so?" Filius asked. Despite all his years and experience, he felt like a young Goblin right now, happy to have someone telling him what to do in this storm of his emotions.

"Yes, you should. Together you'll find a solution. Tell her, tell Augusta."

.

_**Interlude Three – Harry's mate**_

.

Walking through the part of the garden that was under Neville's care, with Neville showing Harry the plants he prepared for his NEWT in Herbology, Harry used the moment of the girls' absence to address something that had been troubling him for days, especially as he had been a factor in starting the trouble. He suddenly gave Neville a slight slap to the back of the head and glared at him.

"What?" Neville asked, knowing exactly what this was about.

"Stop behaving like a prat towards 'Mione. She doesn't deserve this," Harry growled.

Neville's face turned into a pout – certainly not an adoring one like Daphne had mastered, but close enough. "She should have told me about the abduction."

"Yes, she should have," Harry agreed with a sigh.

"I want to know if she's in danger – or her family. Dan is important to me, and not only as my future father-in-law. He's my friend as well."

Harry silently agreed. While he liked Emma Granger more than her husband – she was like a grown-up and more patient version of Hermione and an incredible teacher as well – Dan had become close to the Longbottoms. Especially Frank and Neville liked him and had exchanged quite a number of letters while Dan stayed in Sudan.

"She admitted that you begged her to tell me, you know?" Neville growled. "She would have left me in the dark about this."

"I don't think so, Neville," Harry disagreed. "While the matter was hanging in the balance, she didn't want to tell you, but only because she didn't want to cause you distress. You couldn't have helped and would have worried yourself mad."

"I still would have gone to her."

"And that's exactly the reaction she expected and wanted to prevent. You would not have finished your family summer and knowing how much you wanted to spend time with your parents, Hermione didn't want that."

"She could have told me afterwards," Neville grumbled.

"She would have." Neville looked sceptical. "I'm sure, Neville. Think about it: she told me, knowing that I can't keep a secret from Daphne. She knew that she had to tell you about Sudan and the dangers. She only needed a little push." Harry suddenly grinned mischievously. "You could very well use this, Neville." Neville looked confused, so Harry did explain. "The keyword is redemption. I see endless hours of massage and offerings of chocolate-dipped strawberries in your near future." Turning somewhat more serious he continued: "you know, after weeks of being without her you should really spend your hours with heavy snogging sessions instead of sulking around."

"You're right, mate," Neville thoughtful expression turned into a happier one. He looked around and made a decision. "Sorry, I have to go."

"It's… alright." Harry said to the empty air. For a moment he stared at the flowers Neville had wanted to show him, before he shrugged to himself. "Snogging session, now there is an idea."

A second cracking sound later the green house was empty again.

.

_**Golden City – 26**__**th**__** of July**_

.

"She doesn't look so haughty anymore."

The words, uttered in glee and accompanied by cruel laughter, stopped her steps cold. Ophelia Nott had been on her way to her brother's room. Again she had wanted to speak with him about finding a solution, convincing him that his decision had been an error, a cruel misjudgement destroying her whole life.

Since their father's death, Theo Nott senior had been head of house Nott, patriarch of their admittedly small family. While he proved to be an adequate manager of the family estate, not only securing the family money but also increasing it somewhat, and competently administrating the family properties all over Europe, he had made some very stupid political decisions in the past. More than once he had ruffled the feathers of the wrong people or put his influence and name behind politicians who were personally disgusting or had a despicable worldview – or both.

Her mother allowed it to happen, her mind befuddled by grief and sorrow even after all those years. Ophelia sighed, thinking about the deep love that had connected their parents. It had been, as usual in the Nott family for generations, an arranged marriage. However, they had been lucky. Meeting for the first time three days before the marriage, a bumbling Tiberius Nott and the shy Adelaide Goshawk, niece of Miranda Goshawk whose works were still set text at Hogwarts, hit it off instantly. Within an hour, Tiberius had it understood to relax Adelaide and before they parted ways that evening, the two meeting families hadn't to urge the couple to share the engagement kiss.

Ophelia wanted this too. While she was enough of a Slytherin to be realistic, knowing that real love was rare especially with 90 percent of the men being socially off-limits to her, she wanted friendship at least, respect and tolerance. Certainly she didn't want the feeling of having to vomit every time her husband touched her, something she felt around Dolohov and most other members of the – luckily fast decreasing – circle of the Dark Lord's followers.

Ophelia Nott was in a quandary. Her mother had been able to convince her husband to make a very unusual decision. It was unusual enough to have been written in the secret addendum of his will. Theo was allowed to make every decision about the family wealth, properties and members – aside from a marriage contract. So in a way he couldn't enforce his bargain. Naturally he had a few ways left to 'convince' her. He could cut her off from the family's wealth – something very dire for someone who had never worked a day in her life and never had to think about prices. He could at least try to make her socially inacceptable, the unruly daughter not tolerable at society gatherings and certainly not appropriate for any official relationship. Ophelia wasn't certain about that part, with her brother on the run and her being friends – if hidden – with Roxanne Pinegrew.

And then there was the fact that he had not only agreed to the arrangement but even dared to make a magic oath on it. Ophelia didn't know if Theo had only asserted this to convince her into agreeing to the marriage, or if he really had been stupid – or desperate – enough to actually swear that oath. Could she risk it? Could she resist and watch her brother lose his magic or life?

With all those questions and thoughts bubbling in her head, Ophelia was now standing near the open door and listening to Dolohov's cruel words.

"I never expected to see Alecto again – like this." _So he was speaking about Alecto Carrow_.

Ophelia had never been very close to her. Alecto Carrow was, like most members of her family, mad as a hatter and had a cruel and vicious streak. However, she had felt pity when learning about her infection and the following turning into a Werewolf. Markus Flint, a younger Death Eater who belonged to the small number among them which Ophelia was able to endure and had even thought about admitting to her boudoir once in a while because of his impressive physique and surprisingly gentle manners when without the presence of older 'comrades', had told her a few stories about how Fenrir Greyback had treated Alecto a few months ago. She had been disgusted. Fenrir, now that was a man-beast who deserved to get castrated with a blunt spoon and get his pieces stuffed into his uncouth gob.

"He keeps her like a slave, complete with chains and whip incentives," he snickered.

"How did Fenrir get her?" Theo asked and Ophelia had to put her hand on the wall for support, paling as she thought about a woman – any woman, even Alecto – being Fenrir's slave.

"She tried to assassinate him." _Good woman_, Ophelia Nott growled silently. "Apparently he knew beforehand as she wasn't too inconspicuous in her preparations." _Stupid woman_, Ophelia rolled her eyes. "He decided to catch her instead of simply killing." _Slow death instead of a fast one_, Ophelia realized.

The men continued to speak about Alecto, Fenrir and cruel members of his pack, while Ophelia slowly sank back and returned to her room. She had to think about this. Alecto wasn't her friend. She certainly belonged in St. Mungo's closed ward or perhaps even killed because of the double danger her maniac mind in her Werewolf body represented, but she didn't deserve to stay there – with Fenrir.

_I need a solution_, Ophelia mused. _And I'll find one_.

.

_**Pinegrew Manor – 28**__**th**__** of July**_

.

"They're palsy-walsy again," Harry grinned and pointed towards Hermione and Neville. Like Harry and Daphne, the other couple was resting in the garden, enjoying the break before Brychan Camwy and Ana Sanchez continued their gruelling training. Right now Neville 'endured' Hermione practised massage, her strong hands kneading his shoulders and upper back, while he relished some of the grapes Ciddy provided. Immediately after his talk with Harry, Neville had surprised Hermione with jumping her in the middle of a conversation with Alice Longbottom and expressing his reconciliation quite 'snoggingly'.

"He's really milking the situation," Daphne pouted.

"As if you wouldn't in his stead," Harry deadpanned. Daphne responded with a heavy sigh and a small shrug: "perhaps."

"And I think she's enjoying that, too," Harry argued. "She likes to spoil him a bit and now she has an excuse. I'm certain she missed him as much as Neville did her."

"Can't be," Daphne disagreed. "I visited Alice a few times while Hermione was gone. Nobody could be as much in weal and woe as he has been." Both teenagers grinned, and – with Daphne cuddling into Harry's arms – continued to watch their friends.

"They're cute, aren't they?" Daphne asked.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, pressing a kiss on the top of her head "but not as cute as you."

.

"Up, up, break is over," Ana announced while clapping her hands loudly. She looked far too happy about shooing the teenagers back to their training. Their bodies protested but the four teenagers obediently followed her into the training room. Officially she was on vacation and Harry had no doubt that Daphne's aunt thought this training to be very relaxing – to her at least.

The last weeks had been spent with training of all kind. Daphne had been on the shooting range every second day, while Harry and Neville – under the watchful eye of Spanish Auror Ruiz – continued their knife combat exercises. They even started to integrate their elemental magic into those fights, with Harry covering his knife with flames while Neville protected his shield arm with a layer of stone. More than once Daphne had felt left out, as the boys were a talented team in many exercises. They had continued their Rune/Elemental training, experimenting with new ways to transfer their strengths into a usable battle strategy. The hell hounds used in the team fight against the British Aurors had been mostly for fun, but could very well turn into an advantage in a real fight.

Now she was happy to have Hermione around again, as the girls were easily as incredible a duo as the boys. Disillusioned potion bottles filled with some itching powder or another irritating content and thrown at an incredible long range, was their newest addition to the team's repertoire. Hermione had returned with an increased understanding of her water magic and was now using their evening to read some obscure books, whose content had escaped her understanding before her voyage to the Sudan. She made slow progress but was happy nonetheless.

Daphne on the other hand had experimented with her abilities to scan an area for open minds – open in this case meaning without the protection of Occlumency. Especially in unclear areas it was an incredible advantage to know the position and numbers of their enemies. With many foes she was even able to guess the moment they wanted to attack, as the brain activity was rising in the seconds before. This wasn't practicable however with more experienced fighters, as they stayed too calm in the fight.

When they entered the room, Roxanne and Agatha were waiting for them as well as Brychan. Roxanne gestures Harry to take his position right in front of her. "The others: wands away."

Slightly confused Harry's friends obeyed and waited for something to happen.

"Only shields, Harry," Brychan orders and instantly sends a hurtful looking stinging hex towards Roxanne. Harry reacted instinctively and jumped into the line of fire while creating a shield that reliably intercepted the attack. "Only magical shields, Harry," Brychan scolded him and used a bit of magic to push him back, before starting the next attack.

Over the next few minutes, the intensity of the attacks increased and while Harry was able to defend his adoptive mother against every one of them, he slowly got tired. This only increased as Ana joined Brychan in his attacks. Harry's shields crackled and started to crumble, as he felt a surge of energy flooding his magical core.

"Scutum," Hermione's embarrassed yell announced the culprit to everybody. Harry grinned despite the pearls of sweat on his forehead. The order "No wands" didn't prevent Hermione from supporting him through their link. Daphne and Neville followed seconds later and the tiredness left Harry while his shields increased in power. Slowly it turned into a soft glowing sphere completely covering Roxanne. It held, even with Agatha joining the attacking duo.

"Ignis Terrestris!" Only as Brychan started to throw elemental fire spells against the protecting dome, did the shield start to show signs of overload. Harry's mind raced. He could draw more power from his friends but he doubted that this was the aim of this exercise. Until now he was only pulling around thirty per cent of their power into his shields, leaving them enough to continue a fight on their own in a real battle.

"{Use Hermione's power}" Daphne advised him.

Harry frowned for a moment. Why Hermione's? He could feel the three streams of power. Each of them was different. Daphne's magic was airy, gentle and like a caress. Neville's magic was earthen, strong and dependable. And Hermione's was…

Brychan shouted something and an incredible pillar of fire came into existence above Roxanne and descended rapidly. Leaving the drain from Daphne and Neville at the old level, Harry increased his pull towards Hermione, accepting that his core felt slightly uneasy towards this kind of magic. Since her return he had felt this antagonism in their magic and now he realized the reason: he was fire and Hermione was water. Water could be used to douse flames or to protect against them.

A broad grin erupted on Brychan's face as he noticed how Harry's shield changed colour. It turned an azure blue and nearly looked like water was cascading down the sphere. As his pillar of fire hit the protecting shield, it hissed and steam started to erupt from the collision of energies. Seconds later nothing was left from the vicious fight of the elements aside from a cloud of steam lazily floating away.

"Good, very good," Brychan praised them.

Harry shared a grin with his friends. His gut told him that it had been only the start of a gruelling training session. And he would be proven right. They spend several more hours with exercises how to integrate their different elements into the shields, which element helped more against which attack and how to switch fast enough to make it a real help in strengthening their defence and ease the strain on his friends' cores.

For a second he had time to glance towards Daphne and Hermione. Their faces told him, how they would spend the evening. He saw dozens of tables and diagrams about the interaction of the four elements and the different spells used in a fight. Air to cushion the impact; Fire against water and ice; Earth against visual or shredding attacks; each element had its advantage and the girls would find them all.

He shared a look with Neville, who was obviously thinking the same right now: _We love our clever girls_.

.

_**Interlude Four – Harry's slightly weird friend**_

.

"You're a cute little bugger, aren't you?" Millie asked, her voice rich with affection.

The weird looking little creature endured the fondling without duress or complaint. It even seemed to melt into the huge, calloused hand of the broad-shouldered, heavyset girl. Millie was careful not to move too fast or to exercise too much strength, knowing how flighty and fragile these creatures were.

Before their common arrival, Xeno Lovegood had been hesitant about her company and tried to explain it could happen that the Snorkacks wouldn't make their presence known with a foreigner around. Consequently, Millie had been anxious and dearly hoped him to be wrong. Luna in contrary had been confident and never showed the slightest doubt about Millie meeting them. She had been right. After only a few minutes in the area, the first Snorkacks had left their hideout in the scrub and gravitated towards Luna. In the beginning they had mostly ignored Millie – still better than fearfully hiding from her – later a few of the younger ones had allowed her to come nearer and even settled on her massive shoulders. They had certainly made her week.

"Do you know that I'm the first Slytherin ever seeing one of you?" Millie asked; she was certain that her little friend understood her perfectly. "Not that I'm a real Slytherin," Millie sighed, unsecure if she should be happy or sad about that fact.

A year ago she had learned that she belonged to a number of Slytherin student stemming from Slytherin pureblood families who had been sorted into the house of snakes on Headmaster Dumbledore's command. She could have demanded a resorting but like Daphne had decided to stay where she was. She liked the house and her friends. Only the question remained: which house would it have been?

Millie sighed and tried to concentrate on the little creature. Xeno was away for the day, using their stay on Island to visit an old pen pal. Luna however was relaxing in a pool of hot volcanic water a dozen steps away. _I won't look. I won't look_. Millie uttered silently like a mantra. It didn't help that Luna was relaxing in her birthday suit and the fact that she had grown from a tiny girl into a young if slender woman since her fifteenth birthday.

"You should join me, Millie. The water is fantastic." _Not only the water I assume_, Millie groaned. Her little friend, feeling her tension, left his position and flew away to join its friends.

"I don't have a bathing suit around," Millie tried to dodge the invitation.

"You won't need it," Luna yelled back, a mischievous hint in her voice. "I promise I won't look – mostly."

_You'll be the death of me_, Millie groaned.

.

_**Somewhere in Central Africa**_

.

"_You think to be killed in battle is bad fate?_

"_You think to be tortured with fire is worse?_

"_You think to be walled in alive, to spend decades in endless hunger, is the worst that could happen to you?_

"_Think again, Fledgling. To stir the white hag's anger is worse than anything that you ever could imagine."_

_Unknown Vampire – Central Africa_

.

Hafsa rolled her eyes and hit the man at her side on top of the head. Rodrigo blew a kiss in her direction and winked at her before he turned around to make grimaces towards the other Vampire delegacy. Madam Guille's emissary was accompanied by three massive hulks, purely breed to impress others and fight on her command, as well as a weasel-like man whose appearance betrayed his connection to the hated family clan of the Giovannis, an Italian Clan of Vampires that dabbled in Necromancy even back in mortal times.

_She's really throwing her weight around this time_, Hafsa mused. Before the Dark Lord's fall, she had been careful not to call in too many boons. Madam Guille had been supportive, but mostly as a lone wolf. Now, perhaps partly because of Baron Pascal's intervention, she had started to gather allies among the most despicable elements of the Vampiric society. She certainly had to promise quite a few things to get the Giovanni's support in the matter.

_She can't succeed with her plans_, Hafsa pondered, her eyes narrowed. _She can't win their support; it would cause thousands of deaths_. If Madam Guille got their full support, it would result in endless nightmares to come true. Dozens of Vampires would descend on her enemies, threatening the Statue of Secrecy that existed among the Vampire society as well as among the magical one.

"Stop it," Paul grumbled and actually Rodrigo turned around with a sigh.

"But I have so much fun annoying them," Rodrigo pouted.

Both men looked to be around forty but were actually far older. Paul had been a soldier in the Grand Armée and dying on some lonely field in Eastern Poland when Pascal found and turned him. Rodrigo had been a carriage driver in the service of the Deveraux family back in the time of Louis XIV., the Sun King. Both were incredible loyal and had been sent to deliver a little 'care package' to Hafsa. Paul was the most controlled and calm, surprisingly educated for his background and with a subtle sense of humour; Rodrigo was far more boisterous, was prone to loud fits of laughter and a real womanizer. Nonetheless they were close friends and able to compensate for each other's frailties.

Before both groups could continue to harass each other, the door was opened from the inside and an old, white-haired servant – he looked like one of those butlers from a '1860 American South' cinematic – ushered them to enter the meeting hall.

'_Gone with the Wind'_, Hafsa remembered absent-mindedly.

She took a look around. The meeting place was an old building, simple built but large, with a very African style all around. Hafsa had never been here before, but she was certain that the place looked exactly as it had five centuries ago. Somehow moon light filled the place and heavy flavours filled the air that somehow relaxed her, certainly a welcome influence with more than twenty Vampires gathering and strong emotions flying around.

To Hafsa's surprise members of all nine covens were present, not only the three covens they intended to meet tonight. To her right, the four covens had taken seats that were supportive of Madam Guille. The last one had been convinced by her emissary through a mix of financial promises and threats. To the left Hafsa saw the two neutral covens and her two supporters – one she had been able to impress with her fighting power, the other bribed with something Pascal had sent her from his mortal friend.

The middle seat however was occupied by the White Hag. She had her name because of a pigmentation disorder that caused her black skin to be nearly as white as a bone. According to rumours she already had that disorder in her mortal times and it had been one of the reasons for her Sire to choose her – a Sire that was only known today for this single deed of turning her. The White Hag was, as far as Hafsa knew, nearly as old as she, but contrary to Hafsa she looked every single year of those. Her skin was incredible crumpled, her small eyes vanishing in deep holes and only a pitiful mob of hair covering her head.

The old servant accepted the letters of introduction Hafsa and the other emissary brought with them. He offered them to the White Hag and the ancient Vampire read them carefully, her face not betraying any emotion. Lowering the letters afterwards, her piercing eyes came to rest on the Vampires in front of her.

"Both letters," she started, her voice hoarse and low, forcing her audience to listen carefully "promise the same but so very different things." She looked towards the other delegacy.

Hafsa didn't know much about him. Vidal Jarbeaux was born somewhere in Spain where he had lived a womanizer and con man. His Sire turned him because he needed someone with diplomatic talents and charisma. How he ended in Madam Guille's service, Hafsa didn't know. He was a cultured and beautiful man, but seemed out of place around here. He seemed a bit nervous, perhaps because he felt that this location was better suited to a warrior like Hafsa.

"Your Mistress promises me wealth if I support her and death should I decline."

Hafsa had to suppress a snicker. Threatening the White Hag wasn't a clever move in her mind. She steadied her expression when the White Hag turned towards her. "Your master promises my coven magical wealth and me a serene death should the assembly stay neutral in this war."

Hafsa frowned. She hadn't known the exact content of the letter – a letter written by Baron Pascal's mortal friend and not himself. Only now did she remember the rumours about the old hag being cursed to continue on in her Unlife, far beyond the point where she wanted to die and have peace. She felt the weight of her existence every single night and was able to comprehend to wish this Unlife to end.

"Great promises, from both of your masters," the White Hag snickered, right now more appearing like a demented inmate of a retirement home instead of one of the mightiest witches of the Black Continent.

"Are you certain that they're able to achieve their goals?" Both delegacies nodded eagerly, but neither Hafsa nor the White Hag missed the second of hesitation in Jarbeaux' case.

"Are you willing to bet your Unlife on those promises?" Hafsa again felt the moment of hesitation in her competitor.

She surprised everybody, herself perhaps even more than Rodrigo and Paul, with her immediate answer, an answer uttered without any hint of hesitation or doubt. "If Baron Pascal promises something, then he'll find a way to make it true. I pledge my Unlife on it."

The White Hag nodded and for a second Hafsa saw her being impressed, before she asked the other one: "And you? Are you willing to step up as well?"

"I… I'm only an emissary." _Wrong answer, dimwit_. The White Hag frowned deeply. In the last moment the Giovanni stepped forward, his eyes betraying his madness. "We pledge our lives to our mistress' will."

"I see," the White Hag responded, her eyes on the Vampire speaking in his leader's stead. She narrowed her eyes. "You aren't welcome in these lands, Pietro Giovanni. I only endure your presence because of your mistress' wishes. Speak again and it will be your last words."

Pietro Giovanni, Hafsa felt sick. Not even from Madam Guille she had expected to choose such an ally. His eyes blazed in fury, but Pietro Giovanni was clever enough to keep his mouth shut. He made a mocking bow and stepped back.

"I will think about your words," the White Hag announced. "The nine covens will make a unified decision in this grave matter." Hafsa rejoiced silently. This was far better than hoped. If she could sway the White Hag, even the four covens that had pledged their support to Madam Guille, wouldn't lend her any help. Equally, Vidal Jarbeaux looked a tad ill. All his diplomatic successes for far had been in vain. His mistress wouldn't be happy.

"In three days we'll meet again. Then I'll make my decision and you'll get the chance to prove if your words were words only, spoken from a toothless mouth."

Hafsa grinned like a predator. To call a Vampire toothless was a serious insult. She would prove that she hadn't lost her warrior spirit. _And perhaps I'll even get the chance to play a bit with you, Pietro Giovanni. I would like that_.

.

_**A/N**_

_Next time: birthday party_


	9. Chapter 9 Surprise Guest

**Surprise Guest at the Birthday Party**

**.**

_**House Longbottom – 29**__**th**__** of July**_

.

"Shoo!" Hermione ushered her fiancé away from the door, her eyes narrowed but a little smile playing around her lips and taking the edge from the rebuff. Neville was adorable when pouting and normally she would have snogged him senseless simply because of how cute he looked right now. Hopefully she could make up for that in the evening.

"You're evil," Neville whined. "Why can't I have a look?"

"No peeking, it's your birthday secret," Hermione pushed him back and opened the door to enter the room Harry had booked for this little endeavour. Knowing Neville, she had blocked the sight of line by adding heavy curtains to the entrance. She even added a few privacy spells to prevent any magical spying attempt. Everything to assure the safety of Harry's little secret – not that it was as funny or unimportant as she tried to make it seem like.

"Hey," Hermione whirled around as she felt a strong hand smacking her bottom. Neville looked far too innocent to be believable.

"Was there anything else… honey?" He asked with a sugar-sweet grin.

Hearing the hated nickname, Hermione fumed and nearly spit fire, something Neville certainly noticed as he widened the distance. "Shoo!" She growled again and this time he complied. With a deep sigh Neville turned around and stalked away. He could wait for his present. He would show Hermione that he could.

.

"Boys," Hermione growled a minute later.

Harry looked up from his work and boyishly grinned: "Neville again?" It hadn't been Neville's first attempt to have a look at the room, and would certainly not be his last.

Hermione nodded only. "You shouldn't have told him that you're preparing a present for him. Now he wants to know what it is. He's behaving like a six year old with a sugar rush on Christmas Eve."

Harry only shrugged. "He'll see it…" He glanced towards the old pendulum clock in the corner of the room "in 33 hours."

Hermione sighed and took a long probing look around. Harry arranged with Augusta to use this room for his preparations. Nobody, aside from Hermione and him, knew what he intended to do with the place, and even Hermione was only involved because the whole matter was too important to finish it without any controlling factor. Hermione, while lacking his genius at arranging Ancient Runes in new patterns, knew more than enough to grasp his intent and check the arrangement, correcting his work here and there where he had been too fast and sloppy in the execution. The room was usually used as a smaller sitting and gathering room, with a round table and eight chairs, a few smaller cabinets, sideboards and paintings completing the furnishing. Two big windows allowed more than enough light to filter in, now being transformed into one-way mirrors that made it impossible to peek in from the garden – something Neville already tested several times.

Most of the furniture had been stored away, with only the chairs left behind, now forming a rough circle around the free middle space. Even the carpet had been carried away by eager house-elves. Instead, an unrolled blanket was waiting at the edge of the room to be placed over whatever Harry had been preparing.

"The calculations are over there," Harry gestured towards a sideboard, his eyes never leaving the runes on the ground. Hermione walked over and studied them to recall the details. Harry had allowed her to check his calculations the day before already and she was quite certain that everything was alright. Harry had listened to her advice about adding a few details and "plan B runes" and was quite proud about his work – justifiably so in Hermione's opinion. She was still baffled sometimes, thinking about how fast Harry had grown into Ancient Runes and what leaps he had made within a single year. It belonged to a small number of topics he had absolutely no qualms about spending endless hours in the library for.

Taking a look at Harry's work on the ground, she grinned: "Augusta won't be too happy about her wooden floor."

"You think?" Harry asked with a thoughtful frown. He had scratched the most important runes and lines into the ground to make certain that they wouldn't be smeared up later.

"Not really," Hermione admitted. "She'll be too happy about the present to give a damn." Hermione was sure of this. Augusta was a conservative woman with strong views about proper behaviour – one of the few issues regularly coming up between her, Alice and Hermione. However, she lost any boundaries and forgot every rule really fast when her temper made an appearance, something Hermione expected to happen the next day. "You want to reveal it after midnight?"

"Yes," Harry nodded "when most guests have departed."

"That will be better," Hermione agreed. A number of guests wouldn't be happy, or would perhaps react strongly otherwise. "Whom do you want to be present?"

"Only the four of us, the Longbottoms, mother, and a few specially invited guests," he answered with a grin.

Hermione already knew the identity of those guests. "I assume that you haven't told those special guests why they were invited."

"You assume correctly."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You know: all of this could be done a lot simpler."

"Where would be the fun in that?"

"Boys," Hermione huffed. _You have to love them, or you only would spend your days crying and yelling at them._

.

_**House Longbottom – 30**__**th**__** of July afternoon**_

.

"No big presents."

That had been the one and only important rule for the guests this year. Neville and Harry wanted to spare their friends the trouble of thinking too much about what to give them this year. "You can think about something big for the next year," Harry had joked, with Neville nodding serenely at his sides. Next year they would turn seventeen and be considered full adults in the magical world. This birthday wasn't so important, one reason why they only invited friends and closest allies, not the number of political and financial accomplices they had invited last year.

Frank Longbottom had to put his foot down hard to convince his mother that this also meant "no reception at the door". Harry and Neville had been more than a little grateful about that part. It had been an exhausting experience the year before to be standing endless hours near the entrance to greet dozens of guests, smile into the faces of people like the Parkinsons, Bulstrodes and even Lucius Malfoy. _Now that was a man who wouldn't make an appearance this time_, Harry grinned. _At least I would be very shocked if he did_. He raised his glass of punch and mock toasted to the dead pureblood. _Wherever you are, I hope it's cold, damp and uncomfortable_.

Another Malfoy was passing him, giving Harry a curt nod while searching for Astoria Pinegrew. Draco had naturally been invited along with Sirius, who still hosted him until his mother's return. Sirius seemed a tad occupied with his attempt to kiss his date of the evening, the beautiful but equally temperamental Spanish Auror Carmen. _He likes them feisty_, Harry thought with a grin. Sirius' friend Remus on the other hand had equal problems to fend off the more and more open advances of Carmen's British colleague Tonks. "Hopefully she'll succeed," Daphne whispered. Harry agreed. Remus deserved a little happiness, even if he had to be forced into it.

"Let's make the tour," she suggested.

"Gladly," Harry jumped and offered his arm, which Daphne gracefully accepted with a small smile. Harry had really learned a few manners since joining the Pinegrew household.

.

_**Interlude One – a befuddled mind**_

.

_Tomorrow he'll turn sixteen_, Albus Dumbledore mused, his scrawny hand around the brandy snifter. Playing hide-and-seek with the DMLE hadn't done his old body any good. He had lost weight and more than a few stands of hair. He had to backfill his cognac reserves in the Muggle world, causing quite a stir with his very unique fashion sense. It had been a close call a few times to dodge his hunters, but so far he was safe. His hideout was well hidden and even house-elves wouldn't be able to breach its defences. Yes, Albus Dumbledore was learning from the past.

_I should send him a little gift_, he thought. Naturally nothing with a compulsion charm or any other influencing magic on it – not because he was against such spells, quite the contrary, but because he had no doubt that at least two Pinegrew ladies would examine everything first before allowing Harry to touch anything from an unknown origin. Without access to his house and vault – the blasted Goblins had barely allowed him to leave and certainly not agreed to open his vault – it would be difficult to find something good anyhow. And it had to be something special, something to gain him brownie points with the cumbersome boy.

_Perhaps a memory or two_, Albus nodded to his own, wonderful idea: _a memory of his parents, perhaps about how they entered the Great Hall for the first time or about their graduation_. Harry would love this, he was certain.

A friend could have explained to Albus that Harry, while still missing his parents, now had a new family.

A friend could have explained how Harry had grown up and how he would be able to see the reason behind such a gift.

A friend could have explained to Albus how silly this idea was and how much it was suited to enrage Harry instead of gaining his sympathy.

A friend could have done this. Regretfully Albus had no such friend anymore – not that he would have listened in the first place. No, he was the great Albus Dumbledore, saviour, leader of the light, general of the greater giddiness.

_He would vanquish them all._

Albus bowed towards the invisible, inaudible applause. His former friends would have been shocked at the sight. It was time to say goodbye.

.

_**House Longbottom – 30**__**th**__** of July afternoon - continued**_

.

Harry held the broadest grin while her twirled Daphne around the place, showing off his highly increased dancing skills. He was still no match for Daphne and her natural grace, but they certainly were a cute couple.

"I got a number of written birthday wishes," he whispered, while watching some of his friends over her shoulder, trying not to let his eyes wander down too much, where her décolleté was taunting and teasing him. Daphne had chosen a mint green dress which left one shoulder free, close-fitting at chest and waist while a wide, multi-layered skirt played around her legs. It complemented nicely her skin tone and contrasted fabulously to her shining black hairs.

"From Minister Fudge?" Daphne teased.

"Yes," Harry sighed "but also from Minister Andresen and Cardinal Marcelo."

"That's very nice of them." Daphne knew that the Danish Minister had been the one among the group of politicians working together with Fudge, who had gone the longest way to befriend Harry. She and Markus Lindström, her head of DMLE, had even helped him with the preparations of their stunning new year's date in Copenhagen and Iceland. Daphne had written both of them a thank you letter afterwards. "How is Cardinal Marcelo doing?"

"Enjoying his retirement," Harry responded, smiling softly. The Cardinal had been a pen pal for the last year and shown a surprising insight into the mind of a young, war-harassed teenager. A few months ago, however, he had regretfully accepted his overdue retirement. His successor, while a nice enough boss to Harry's aunt as well, wasn't as tolerant regarding her absences. If the whole Tom Riddle case wasn't solved permanently very soon, she would have to make a decision about her career and future.

"Mum told me about a little package from Baron Pascal."

Harry sensed her light shudder and understood the reaction well enough. "He wanted to congratulate us but decided against a visit."

"It is better this way," Daphne commented. Too many guests would have felt uneasy around a Vampire, especially around one this old and powerful.

"I still would have liked to meet him."

"Perhaps another time," Daphne attempted to placate him.

"Yes, perhaps." Harry could only hope.

.

"Harry!"

Harry endured Hagrid's crushing hug with a smile. Perhaps it was a good thing he was used to Hermione's hugs, which weren't all too much gentler. Hagrid continued by hugging Neville, Daphne and Hermione, but was a tad more careful with the girls.

"Happy to have you here, Hagrid," Harry greeted the half-giant. Hagrid had been his first friend and would always have a special place in his heart. While Harry turned around to greet the other teachers invited to their party – there was a whole bunch of them under the leadership of the tiny Headmaster Flitwick – Hagrid pulled a biscuit tin from his pocket and shoved it into Neville's hand. Daphne suppressed her urge to roll her eyes and Hermione actually looked a bit frightened. She knew them all too well, those rock cookies.

"Thank you, Hagrid," Neville however accepted them happily. "You know I love your cookies." He opened the tin and took one of the cookies, heartily biting into the rock-like substance and munching it. Hermione looked a bit green watching him and made a declining gesture as he offered her one. "I'm full." Neville's grin only broadened, earning him a nudge from Daphne's elbow.

"You're evil, Nev," she commented. Daphne had noticed the slight grey tint to his skin that had formed as he started to eat the cookie. Neville had yet to teach Hermione how to use Earth Magic to help in digesting Hagrid's very special baker's wares.

"Hello Aunt Tuney, hi Dudley," Harry greeted his relatives who had entered the house after the rest of the teaching staff. "Professor Chentz and Emma are over there if you're looking for them," he directed his aunt in the right direction, knowing that she felt better around her Muggle colleagues. While the rest of the staff and especially Pomona and Poppy always tried to make her feel welcome, she still had 'her moments'. Caren Chentz however spoke the same language – a language most other mortals at Hogwarts had no idea about – and would have no problems spending a few hours together. His Cousin Dudley was more open however and would mix with the score of teenagers running around the party. He had grown a couple of inches over the last months and looked thinner, more muscular and far more healthy – and happy. The Muggle boarding school he visited obviously did him well.

"You're looking good, Dudley," Harry greeted his cousin, knocking their fists against each other. "Training?"

"Yeah," Dudley grinned. "I'm in the school boxing team now. My trainer told me that next year he'll let me participate in a couple of junior championships."

Harry smiled, partly because he was surprised to hear his cousin use words like 'participate'. Hermione thought so as well, apparently. "Petunia told me you're getting far better with your school grades, too."

Dudley shrugged, blushing a bit. "My trainer forced me to take a few remedy courses. I'm not allowed to box if my grades aren't good enough. Mum is happy about it."

"I can imagine," Harry grinned.

"It is better this way," Hermione nodded. "It only requires a serious sport accident to not be able to continue with the boxing. Better to have a backup plan."

"Maybe," Dudley agreed half-heartedly. Suddenly his grin broadened. "It certainly helps that my remedy teacher is a beautiful 21-year-old student. Her name is Susan."

"I hope you concentrate on the lessons nonetheless and not on her assets?" Harry asked with a boyish grin.

"Mostly," Dudley responded, ignoring how Hermione rolled her eyes.

_Boys._

.

"Good evening, Misses Patil, Padma, Parvati," Daphne greeted the Indian lady and her daughters. While only Padma was a close friend, she had seen more of her sister since last winter and their mother had become a common guest of her mother.

"Hello Daphne, it's a nice party you have here." Shanta Patil looked around. She looked a bit tense but not overly much. Daphne knew that her mother was still working on integrating the Patil family into the British society.

"Nev and Harry only invited friends today," she responded, telling the Indian lady at the same time that she belonged to that august circle. "Not like last year where all kind of…" She searched a moment for an appropriate word but gave up after a while "other people were invited as well. We wanted to have a really nice party for once."

"Is that Bulstrode?" Parvati asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and slight disgust.

Daphne frowned. She didn't like how much the big girl still had to fight with prejudices, in Parvati's part – she assumed – mostly because of her lack of beauty and grace. "Yes, she is a good friend of Harry." Her tone told Parvati to behave, something at least her sister noticed. Millie had just entered with Luna and was now following the petite girl towards a group of students. Niles Chentz, his arm around the hip of his girlfriend Megan Jones, was just telling some kind of silly story with Susan Bones, Hannah Abbot and a few others listening. While Susan and Hannah looked a tad sceptical, Niles greeted Millie not a whiff less warm than he did with Luna, something Daphne appreciated very much. Among the four friends, Neville was closest to Niles, but the rest liked him very much as well. He could certainly give Neville a run for the money in getting the title of 'Hufflepuff Paragon'.

"How is she doing?" Padma asked, showing that she knew far more about Millie's circumstances than her sister.

"Alright, as far as I know," Daphne responded. "She's staying with Luna this summer and her father isn't allowed to get near her. We're all still hoping very much that he has some kind of serious accident in the near future."

Parvati gasped, Padma grinned meekly and their mother commented softly: "Roxanne told me about him. Getting rid of him would be best for the girl – and her mother," she added as an afterthought.

Daphne nodded slowly, her mind on her own father. Some men simply weren't meant to be parents.

.

_**Interlude Two – a vicious mind**_

.

"You'll get her back."

Antonin Dolohov was annoyed. His face and voice showed as much. He hated being here. He hated to have this conversation, especially with such a bloodthirsty beast as Fenrir Greyback. However, he had no choice. Alright, he had a few choices, but none that he liked.

He could relinquish his claim on Ophelia Nott. This would certainly not happen.

He could force her to comply. This was a possible but dangerous option. Antonin had absolutely no wish to wake up one day with a sharpened spoon in his chest. Equally he didn't like to return every day to the sight of a pouting wife spitting insults into his face at every waking moment.

This left only the third choice, still bad but the best of them: make her a happy witch, or at least a moderately pacified one, willing to accept her fate.

He had been surprised to say the least, when she actually offered him a way to gain her trust and cooperation.

"_I don't like her. Actually I despise her. She's nearly as bad as her brother was. However, she is a woman and nobody deserves such a fate. It's simply cruel and disgusting to leave her there. If you get her away from Fenrir, if you allow her to stay here, be it as a prisoner or 'guest', I would appreciate that."_

Slytherin as they were, they had to discuss the details for a while. Ophelia wanted to make certain that Alecto wouldn't change one jail for another. And Antonin wanted to know how much she would appreciate the gesture.

"_I'll share every lunch with you, actually speaking to you as long as you behave," _she had offered. _"And I'll spend a night with you, a night you won't forget."_

Antonin had no doubt about that part. While Ophelia was no slut, she was no prude virgin either. He had heard a number of bedtime stories about her conquests, a few of them actually believable. And she would try to impress him, if only to strengthen her position. Yes, this was the better choice. While Antonin had no qualms about raping a woman, he didn't like this 'procedure' in an official relationship – at least not as a steady state. This left only one way out: he had to fulfil her wish.

"I didn't want to let her go in the first place." Fenrir Greyback pouted, he actually pouted, Antonin noticed with surprise on no small amount of disgust. _Grow up, big bad wolf_, he sneered.

"Too bad," Antonin growled back. "I'm the boss right now. I make the calls." He stared into Fenrir's face, daring him to challenge him. For a moment it looked like the Werewolf leader would lose his self-control, but he was too clever for that. Strong as he was, he was nobody the purebloods would ever accept as their leader. And while he was the undisputed leader among his pack, he had to offer them something worthwhile to stay in Britain. Losing Antonin's support would cause most of them to flock back into their home countries. Even the dumbest and most bloodthirsty Werewolf knew how stupid it was to go against Fabian Treskow without any allies.

"When will I get her back?"

Antonin didn't show but inwardly sighed with relief. So the big bad wolf was ready to bargain. "Let's speak of the details."

.

_**House Longbottom – 30**__**th**__** of July afternoon - continued**_

.

"Poor man," Harry snickered without any real pity in his voice. He was sitting near the window with Daphne on his lap, a mug of Russian chocolate in his hand and his eyes on a group of teenagers across the room.

Red was the dominating colour over there. Fred and George, their arms around their girlfriends Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson, were speaking with their brother Percy and their baby sister Ginny. Percy was standing close to Penelope Clearwater and while they refrained from the touch-and-kiss behaviour of the twins, it was clearly visible how much he adored his old and new girlfriend. Penelope had given him a second chance and he was totally willing to make the best of it. Percy – while still a very self-controlled young man – looked far more relaxed and happy than Harry had ever seen him in the past.

The target of his comment however, a very special Cedric Diggory, did his best to keep some distance from Ginny, resulting in a silly step dance as the red-haired and spirited girl obviously tried to display her interest in the young man. Like most girls at Hogwarts she had a crush on Cedric even before he left the school and his letters had inflamed her interest only the more. Cedric however was all too aware of the glares her brothers sent his way. And these were only three of them. Bill and Charlie had so far resisted to start the 'big-brother-talk' but stood at the ready and clearly watched the development with open interest.

"She'll get her date," Daphne commented without a doubt.

"If the twins are clever they won't interfere much," Harry grinned.

"George will certainly try," Daphne stated with a deep sigh. Since Ginny's suicide attempt more than a year ago, George had been incredible protective of his sister. Daphne didn't expect that to change until Ginny was thirty.

"Perhaps I should talk with him," Harry offered thoughtfully. "Cedric will certainly be a complete gentleman and he isn't a hormonal teenage boy anymore."

"Not like some others?" Daphne asked with a grin, fidgeting around on his lap.

"Wench," Harry commented. "I'll get you back for the teasing."

"Empty promises," Daphne's grin broadened.

"You only wait and see."

.

"I'll be back in a jiffy," Luna claimed with a dreamy smile and walked, more scampered, over to speak with Healer Jannis. The Greek Healer of house-elves and other unusual patients had accompanied Spiritualist Nowles to the party on Daphne's personal wish and was talking animatedly right now with Jessica Treskow about special healing procedures regarding Werewolves, while Fabian watched the show with a soft smile. His giant frame should have dwarfed the far smaller body of Ironsides, as they were sitting side by side on a cosy couch, but her whole stance and aura made it clear who was the real heavy-weight among those two.

"She's very special," Mandy Brocklehurst whispered, watching Luna as the blonde departed. Despite Harry's attempts to integrate her into his circle of friends, she had been surprised to get an invitation. Since her arrival she obviously had felt out of place and more or less moved around the edges of several groups of guests. Now she nervously eyed Millie Bulstrode and waited for her reaction.

"Yes, she is," Millie responded, stunning Mandy with the softness of her voice. "What?" Millie barked sounding slightly annoyed by Mandy's scrutinizing look.

"You won't hurt her?" Mandy asked with a surprisingly demanding voice, the smaller Ravenclaw forgetting for a moment that she certainly wasn't in a position to threaten the big girl.

"That's rich coming from you," Millie growled.

"I know," Mandy blushed. She hadn't forgotten how much Luna had suffered from the mobbing of her and the other 'Claws. She watched Luna for a moment, talking and laughing with the young Greek. "We were awful. But she's happier now. I don't want that to change." Her voice was only a whisper.

"I would never do that," Millie declared, leaving no doubt about her seriousness.

"I should have known," Mandy smiled weakly.

"Yeah, you should have," Millie nodded. For a while both girls stayed silent, watching Luna and pondering their own thoughts. From time to time Millie glanced in Mandy's direction. "You aren't very popular among the Claws right now," she stated shockingly insightful.

"No," Mandy shrugged. "It's Cho's doing, she's the Queen bee and not exactly my fan. Only Luna and Padma are really on speaking terms with me."

Mandy's eyes widened as Millie's meaty hand patted her shoulder. "You're alright, tiny… for a Claw."

"Thanks?" Mandy wasn't certain if it had been a compliment.

"You should get some friends who aren't Claws," Millie suggested.

"Like you and the Gryffs?" Mandy asked, not exactly convinced. Even she had noticed the still existing tensions.

"Yeah, they aren't that bad," Millie nodded gravely. She raised her hand and waved Greg to come over. He had been mostly talking with Draco, Astoria, Tracey and Pansy, but obviously felt slightly out of place, despite Draco's recently improved behaviour towards him. Draco was mostly concentrating on Tori, while Tracey – who came alone because of her still shaky relationship with Blaise – was whispering with Pansy, leaving Greg mostly on his own.

"Goyle?" Mandy whisper-asked.

"Greg is alright," Millie nodded gravely. "He's brave, loyal and nice. And he doesn't give a damn about who is popular or not."

"Hi Millie," Greg greeted her, nodding towards Mandy with a curious look "Brocklehurst."

"Mandy, that's Greg," Millie introduced with her no-nonsense voice. "Greg, that's Mandy." She pushed him a bit in her direction. "Talk!" With that simple command she turned around and walked away, leaving behind two slightly confused teenagers.

"So," Mandy started after some moments of uneasy silence. "Nice weather isn't it?"

Greg stared at her for a second before his face erupted into a broad grin. "Yeah, it is, isn't it?"

.

"Who was that?" Harry asked as Neville returned with two small presents in his hand. They were obviously some kind of books and wrapped into beautiful and very colourful silk instead of your run-o-the-mill gift-wrap.

"Some Ishmael," Neville shrugged. "He said he's a messenger from Sheikh Malak." He glanced towards a suddenly very interested Hermione. "Someone," he continued with a smirk "apparently told him about our talents and he got us presents." He shoved one of the books into Harry's hand. For a second Harry wondered how Neville was able to tell which present was meant for him as there were no names on them. Then however he felt it: _Fire_.

"Open it," Hermione ushered, her eyes gleaming. Daphne stayed silent but looked equally keen to see the content of his gift. Harry rolled his eyes and exchanged a smile with Neville. Their girls and books, it was a love of biblical dimensions. Carefully he opened it as did Neville with his. As expected they contained books: heavy and very old books. The binding had been created from some kind of unknown dark leather, showing signs of many hands handling them over time. They smelled old and… Harry wasn't certain but he thought there was a hint of sulphur about it. Slowly he opened it, wondering if it was written in Arabic and how he was expected to read it.

However, his concern was unfounded. He immediately recognized the characters that had been used. He had seen them before in some of the older books Monsieur Delacour had lent to Neville: Elemental Runes, the universal language used by elemental mages and only understandable by those that had the talent themselves. A coven of Elemental Mages had invented them fifteen centuries ago to protect their knowledge from undeserving eyes and misuse.

"732," Neville whispered after reading the inscription. "My book has been written in 732 in Baghdad."

"The same with mine," Harry's hand lovingly stroke the cover of his book. Like Neville he noticed the hands of the girls twitching in their desire to have a close look themselves. Only after teasing them for a few minutes more did Neville slap his forehead like he just remembered something. "I completely forgot to tell: despite your birthday only being in a few weeks, Sheikh Malak sent you something as well. I put it over there on the sideboard."

He gestured towards a sideboard near the entrance and watched the screaming girls hurrying away like mad furies, dashing towards the waiting presents.

"We won't see them again today, you know that?" Harry commented, watching amused as Daphne hugged her book like a new-born.

Neville shrugged: "they're happy."

"That they are," Harry agreed.

.

They needed more than an hour to separate the girls from their books again. Harry had to promise Daphne three dances to get her away from hers and was now twirling her around the dance room under the soft eyes of her mother, aunt and grandmother.

"I so hope everything goes well in two days," Roxanne whispered, earning her nods from Ana and Agatha.

"Nel is certain about it," Ana ascertained her. "Otherwise she wouldn't have offered it."

More determination and conviction in her voice than she actually felt, Agatha added: "in two days he'll be free again, after nearly fifteen years of enslavement." She frowned shortly. "I wonder how it will affect his mind and behaviour."

"What do you mean?"

"I think," Agatha explained "he was influenced by the scar. We all know James' temper was nearly as bad as Harry's, but perhaps Harry's is partially to blame on the scar."

"Nel told me," Ana said thoughtfully "that the scar is draining his magic as well. That and his magic is battling the influence. Both are diminishing his power, not all too much but still noticeable."

"Oh god," Roxanne uttered. "He's supposedly even stronger?"

Ana nodded. "Nel expects his magical score to up another ten to fifteen points after the ritual."

"That should be interesting."

While the three women watched Harry as he escorted her to the table with the refreshments and poured her a glass of punch, Neville and Hermione had a quite different topic to speak about.

"Have you already decided what to do about Crooks?" Neville was standing behind a sitting Hermione and copied a number of massage moves he had learned from her over the last days. She had her eyes closed, the book about elemental magic forgotten at her side, and enjoyed the spoiling with noises akin to purring.

"I want to do it," she decided without looking up. Neville stilled for a moment before he continued.

"I think it's the right decision," he supported her softly.

"I hope it is," Hermione sighed. "In the end it is his decision anyway. I can only offer it to him but Crooks has to make the last step on his own."

"And when do you want to do it?"

"In three days, after the birthdays and the ritual," Hermione responded. "I want to have time for him, should he need a few days to recover."

"I'd expect such a change to be… draining."

Hermione flinched. "You don't think it would be painful? I don't want Crooks to get hurt."

Neville thought about it for a while before he shook his head. "No, I'm sure that Meryem woman would have told you. From your stories I'd guess she likes cats more than humans."

"That she did," Hermione smiled, now more relaxed. "You're right, she would have told me." She halfway turned around and asked him with an eyebrow mock raised. "Since when did you get so insightful?"

"It's the company I keep," he grinned. "It's rubbing off."

.

_**Interlude Two – a scheming mind**_

.

"The gentlemen are awaiting you, Sir," the butler greeted him and stored his cloak away before leading him into the depths of the 'Quills and Regularity'. It was a very old club, located not far from the Ministry; it was a favoured meeting area of the higher-ranking and more conservative officials. Rufus Scrimgeour had been in these rooms for dozens of times already and met most of his friends while enjoying its fabulous selection of beverages.

The 'Q and R' also employed non-humans. House-elves were dominating the kitchen and according to rumours the bookkeeper was a Goblin. In sight of the patrons however only humans were visibly. They were poorer wizards from older families mostly, with enough education to work here but without the grades or connections to get a better job. In the past a number of squibs had been working here as well, but they had caused too many problems, mostly from pureblood patrons unwilling to treat them politely.

Others would complain that those treated wrong were now punished as well, but in Rufus' mind all was good and well with that. In the end this was a 'magical society' meaning – you guess it – having magic. It wasn't the patrons' fault that some people weren't able to understand this principle – and their place or non-place in this society – without a little… encouragement.

He followed the butler into the room where his friends were waiting, greeting them with a curt nod and only the two most important ones with a few words. Taking his usual seat, he barely noticed the servant putting the tray down with his usual collection of drinks. There were a bottle of water from the Czech part of the Erzgebirge, a smaller bottle of finest Madeira and three glasses, two empty while the third, smaller one, contained something greenish whose nature only the servants of the 'Q and R' knew.

"With everybody here," one of Rufus' friends started, a grey-haired member of a family well-known among the Ministry for its traditionalism "let us begin."

.

_**A wee bit later**_

"They want to wait for another two weeks," the elderly man with the mousy grey hair began.

He was sitting in an unused office of the Ministry near the Archive and just telling Bry Camwy about the earlier meeting. Like most other members of that circle, he belonged to a very old and conservative family. However, the others never understood that he was foremost someone who liked it quiet and peaceful. He abhorred the idea of causing a riot to get rid of the current Minister, irrespective of that man's identity and nature. All in all he was a man who had to be handled careful by Bry, but whose connections were incredible valuable right now.

"Either the nonattendance of Headmaster Dumbledore will cause the Minister to lose face or his victory will, as our circle expects him to win the fight." His voice told Bry, that his counterpart believed in Dumbledore's victory as well, an opinion he didn't share but was able to understand, remembering Dumbledore's reputation and history.

"Then they want to use the momentum to publish some documents, proving Minister Fudge's past wrongdoings." He pushed a stack of papers in his direction and Bry had a short look at it. He wasn't surprised and had no doubt about the authenticity of the papers. Fudge had been no saint in the past, bribery and hanky-panky had been quite normal for him. Even today he wasn't completely re-educated, but on his way.

"Minister Fudge shows signs of becoming a worthy Minister," Bry's counterpart commented drily, uttering the opinion he had himself. "In a few years he could become a great Minister even. The alternative would be less… convincing."

Bry nodded. The alternative… that would be Scrimgeour. "I expect you to solve this unpleasant little matter, Camwy."

"I will find a solution," Bry promised, inwardly uncertain how to make this happen.

.

_**House Longbottom – 31**__**st**__** of July shortly after midnight**_

.

The assembled guests had toasted to the birthday boys and wished them well for their next year. It was getting late now and most guests had departed already. Neville was just saying his farewell to the last couple of the most persevering ones, too occupied to notice Harry's tension and unrest.

"Everything will be fine," Hermione tried to calm him, putting her hand on his shoulder in a reassuring gesture.

"It simply has to," Harry whispered, his voice hoarse. He glanced towards the clock. A quarter to one, in a few minutes his guests should arrive.

Hermione noticed Daphne's questioning look and shook her head, mouthing a silent 'later'. During the next few minutes she tried her best to distract him, telling him about Crooks and what she read about Kneazles, getting only a grunt here and there from a seriously absent-minded Harry. She didn't mind, and didn't comment his glance towards the clock every thirty seconds. Instead she used the time to go through the preparations herself for a last time, her mouth blabbering on its own more or less.

Both teenagers wince as the bell announced Harry's guests. Neville, Daphne and a few others looked up in surprise. "I gather everybody and you greet… your guests," Hermione offered and Harry accepted with a curt nod.

"Neville, Daphne; over here, please," Hermione uttered loud and clearly.

"What is with…" Neville asked, his eyes following Harry who walked towards the door where Paddoc was waiting.

"He'll follow in a bit." She walked into the parlour and waved towards Brychan to follow with his group. He actually had no idea what would happen in a few minutes, but had promised to keep Augusta, Alice and Frank Longbottom as well as her mother occupied and together. All four now followed Hermione into the 'gift room'. "Come in," Hermione rolled her eyes as Neville hesitated at the entrance.

"You nearly bit my head off yesterday when I tried," Neville whined, only to get dragged into the room. "Bossy," he grinned.

"You like that," Hermione deadpanned, earning both some eye-rolls and soft smiles from the people around. "Take a seat," Hermione gestured towards the chairs standing around in a rough circle. "No peeking," she stopped Neville from taking a look under the blanket still covering the floor. "You'll see your present in a few minutes. We only have to wait for Harry and his… his guests."

When everybody was sitting, Hermione remembered something. "Actually, there is something…" she walked towards Neville. "Your wand please."

"My wand?" Neville wondered.

"Yeah, you know, wood, able to do funny things with earth, your wand," Hermione used her 'toddler-addressing-voice', adding a calmer "please, it's important."

With a sigh Neville obeyed, only to watch his girlfriend as she asked Augusta the same. His grandma narrowed her eyes and stared into Hermione's eyes like searching for something. Apparently she found what she had been looking for. Her eyes widened and she nodded curtly, before really handing out her wand. Even Hermione seemed surprised by her compliance, Alice and Frank certainly were. After storing away both wands, Hermione took a seat aside Neville, grabbed his right hand and pressed it, while forcing a very tense smile onto her face.

"I get the impression my last present won't be something simple like a book," Neville tried to lighten the mood.

"No, it won't," Hermione agreed and turned to the opening door.

.

"You know, Harry, you simply could have invited us if you missed us this much," Amelia Bones joked around.

Harry smiled sheepishly. "It's not like that. Good evening by the way. Hey Kings, Auror Towers, Auror Brinks," he greeted the trio of Senior Aurors that were accompanying their boss. He helped Paddoc to store the cloaks away, before he gulped. "Please follow me." He walked through the entrance hall and towards the room he had prepared for tonight.

Amelia threw Kingsley a questioning look and got only a shrug in return. He had no idea why Harry had invited them. As they entered the gift room, Amelia took a look around and greeted Augusta with a nod, before turning to Harry again with a raised eyebrow. He gestured towards the door and closed it with a wave, obviously not really registering that he had done it wandlessly and voicelessly, two facts none of the Aurors missed.

Harry took a few deep breaths and trembled slightly, his smile not really reassuring. Instead of Amelia, he addressed Neville however. "Neville, as promised, I have a last present for you. Hermione told me I could have done this in a lot simpler way and she's certainly right about that. However, it thought this would be the better location and time and…"

"You're rambling, Harry," Daphne interrupted him.

"It's alright, Harry," Hermione soothed him.

Harry nodded and his smile got a little steadier: "Alright, without any further preamble, now to your present." He mumbled something akin to 'I hope everything goes well', before he stepped into the middle of the room moments after Hermione pulled away the blanket, unveiling the dozens of runes covering the floor. For a few seconds Augusta frowned as she noticed the damage they had done to the parquet floor, but relaxed as she recognized some of the runes.

Before the others had time to throw more than a passing look onto the runes, Harry conjured a bit of fire into his hands. After a few moments the simple flame changed into something very similar to his Crane Patronus. It became quite clear very soon that he intended to use it in a similar way as well.

"Fly away, little friend," Harry whispered to the flaming crane, his voice hissing like water poured onto a red-hot iron plate. "Tell him it's time." Unlike a Patronus, the little crane didn't run away to vanish through the wall, but instead popped away out of existence as if apparating, leaving behind a little cloud of smoke and sulphur smell.

"Now we wait," Harry announced while watching Hermione wrap together the blanket and store it away. He stepped away from the rune circle and avoided to look anybody into the eye, unwilling to risk any questions for now. The attendants around him tried to guess the significance of the rune circle, with only Bry, Daphne and Roxanne having more than a limited success.

"An incarceration circle?" Daphne wondered loudly, getting gasps and hisses from the others in return. Before Harry had time to answer the question, a loud popping noise announced the arrival of the present. In a cloud of flames Harry's old friend made an appearance, Phoenix Fawkes looking better but also angrier than ever. He dropped something into the circle before vanishing again.

"{Expelliarmus!}" The reason behind the command wasn't instantly clear but the order in itself was. Without any hesitation six wands were raised and six beams of light hit whatever appeared in the middle of the circle before it had a chance to react. Hermione had to suppress a smile as she noticed Neville who had tried to do the same with less success than his three friends and the three Pinegrew women. The lack of a wand can do this to a wizard.

Six beams of light hit none other than Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore who was already lying in a heap on the ground, wearing a very fashionable – and colourful – nightshirt complete with an equally colourful nightcap. The spells pushed him back and forth while separating him from his wand, and only the magical barrier of the rune circle prevented him from being tossed aside. Was it vindictiveness or a simple little error on her part? Hermione would never tell and nobody would ask why her disarming spell was accompanied by a strong component of her very own branch of magic. Whatever the reason: Albus Dumbledore strangely resembled a very wet dog but was wildly awake now, glaring around, his anger turning into fear and back into rightful fury.

"What's the matter of this?" He growled.

And equal growl answered him, far deeper and more threatening. Hermione was happy to have asked for Neville's wand beforehand. His face had been an example of stunned confusion for a moment before it turned into this grimace of pure rage. His grandma didn't look any better but decades of experience allowed her more control of her temper – perhaps.

"Neville," Harry interrupted with a soft voice that betrayed his relief. "This is my present to you." He addressed Amelia Bones. "Madam Bones, I trust you not to lose Mister Dumbledore again. I really want to have that opportunity for a little victory dance on his grave."

He and Augusta shared a short moment of determination, nobody taking offence at his words. Equally nobody saw the thoughtful look Hermione shot Augusta Longbottom, remembering a little talk with a tiny headmaster.

_We'll see, Harry_, she mused, _we'll see_.

.

_**A/N**_

_I replaced "Liam" with "Dudley" again. I confused this story with my other one (Crossing the Border), where Dudley changed his given name._


	10. Chapter 10 The Cleansing

_**A/N**_

_Betaed now – thank you very much Butterfly83._

_The poll's result about Dumbledore's duel is very clear. 39 of the 61 votes have been in favour of …_

_I won't tell you now, but you'll see it very soon. _

**.**

**The Cleansing**

.

_**Somewhere near Nottingham**_

.

"You should eat a bit more, Rasti. You're way too thin."

Henry Broden flinched as if biting into something very cold while having a toothache. It was bad enough to be here; it was worse to have to answer to the name of Rastaban – what kind of name was that anyhow? What kind of father would allow his own son to be called that? Certainly not a good English one. However, turning that awful name into an even worse nick name was stepping over the line. It made him bodily ill and caused him to look for a bucket. _Perhaps I can vomit into that silly hat she had been wearing yesterday_.

'Bella' put another glob of that 'delicious' meal on his plate before taking a seat all too close to him, giving him a saccharine smile and actually fluttering her eyelashes. The meal tasted even worse than it smelled, and that meant something with the fumes reaching his nose doing the mumbo in his stomach. Henry had already learned that 'Bella' didn't react very serenely to any veiled hints or open complaints about the taste of the meal – or lack of it. The last time he had to hastily convince her afterwards that it had only been an unsuccessful attempt at a joke and that he absolutely loved her food. Within seconds, her grimace of fury had turned into this mind-boggling sweetness. Henry wasn't certain whether the fury or smile were worse.

With every ounce of self-control Henry took a bite and forced a thankful smile on his face, ignoring the big grin of Healer Smythers, who was watching the whole scene with open amusement. 'Bella' mostly ignored the healer, something Smythers obviously enjoyed – far too much to Henry's liking. Now 'Bella' was watching him, winking, smiling, and – Henry was unable to suppress a shudder – blowing kisses in his direction. From an attractive woman or at least a mediocre looking one, he would have enjoyed such behaviour. 'Bella' regretfully was neither. She was – to use that old flattery – too short for her weight. She had absolutely no fashion sense, wearing clothes that were meant to accentuate a slimmer body and were 'hugging her curves' far too much.

'Rubenesque curves' he had called them as she asked him about her weight. He hadn't been a lady-killer for nothing, knew how to flatter, even if this lady would kill him one day. Thankful he accepted a glass of whiskey to get rid of that awful taste in his mouth, not even flinching when 'Bella' used the moment to touch his hand and even rubbed it for a while with her chubby fingers. He looked up for a second and instantly regretted it. Her face was all too close, podgy with a wobbly double chin, wrinkles that betrayed her age and lifestyle, and that mess of hair. It was curly, short and overall not meant to be worn like she did. It didn't help that she still tried every day to dye it black, something that got better on those days she allowed Healer Smythers to help her. It still looked completely unnatural and like she would be wearing a periwig.

And then there was her smell. Thankfully it was unnoticeable right now, with the fumes of the meal nauseating him. _Bless small fortunes_, Henry mused. Despite there being no cat around, the woman smelled like cats all the time, the smell mixing with that of a far too heavy perfume. The few times he had to allow her to hug him, it had nearly overwhelmed him.

_You have to gain her trust_, Healer Smythers had told him. _It's our only way of escaping_. _Easier said than done_, Henry silently growled. _Why don't you try yourself_?

Glaring at Smythers for a second, a gesture the healer reciprocated with a wicked smile, Henry turned around and lifted his refilled glass. "Thank you, sweetie-pie." The nickname got him widened eyes from Smythers and a dazzling smile from 'Bella'. Henry was very proud not to grimace.

_Take this_, Henry grumbled, gulping down the whiskey. _Sometimes,_ he thought while looking down on his plate, _you can't eat as much as you want to vomit_.

.

_**Toledo – first of August – early morning**_

.

Waking up like this was something he could get used to. Not that Roxanne would be happy about it but Harry assumed that she was okay with the specific event, this day being a very special one for him. A scent of cinnamon prompted him to turn his head to the left, where the reason of his wonderful restful sleep was snuggling to his side. Expecting – quite correctly, he had to admit – that Harry would have issues falling asleep in the evening before the ritual, Daphne had decided to spend the night in his arms. Both were dressed, naturally, and nothing inappropriate had happened. Still, it had been very nice to have her in his arms, her head resting on his chest, sighing in her sleep from time to time.

"You're drooling," he teased, feeling that his girl was waking up.

"Am not," she disagreed, her eyes still closed. Daphne snuggled even more into him, her left hand starting to draw circles on his chest. "You're a very cosy pillow, you know?"

"And you should keep your hand above the waistline," he responded, drawing a deep breath. "Else I can't promise to behave."

She opened her eyes but only barely, looking like a sleepy, playful cat right now. "Who said I want you to behave?"

"Don't tease me," Harry scolded her. "I'm a hormonal boy after all." With a gentle gesture he pushed some curls out of her face. "And we wanted to wait until after your sixteenth birthday, you remember?"

"Did we really?" Daphne pouted. She continued to rub his chest, stroking the muscles there. Harry would never have the stature of a body builder, but she didn't complain. Daphne never really understood the hype about… what had been the name of that film star? Arnold something. No, she liked her Harry very much as he was.

"Liking what you feel?" Harry teased, pulling her closer, his body reacting to the touch of her breasts to his chest.

"Yes, our training program is doing you well – despite your complaints."

Harry had to admit she was right. Beside their spell and combat training, Roxanne had enforced a physical training over the past weeks. They had been riding several times, swimming at least once a week and Daphne had continued her gymnastic and yoga sessions, with Harry an unwilling participant – not because he disliked those session but because he liked to see Daphne in her gym suit all too much. He learned a number of positions and contortions he hadn't thought possible before and had to admit that this could be useful in a fight as well.

"In a few days, when… this," he wrinkled his nose, thinking about today's plans "is over, I would like to have an evening with Spanish food and a little music again." Since Carmen had introduced him to the opera connected to her name, Harry had developed a passion for the music of Georges Bizet. His fervour for Spanish food had already started a year ago when spending some time in Toledo. Both enthusiasms Daphne was eagerly willing to endure and share.

"Only if you'll sing for me," Daphne demanded, her inner Slytherin using the chance to get him to indulge her own passion about hearing his voice.

"I'll sing if you dig up your sketch-pad again," Harry entered the negotiation. Daphne frowned at the demand. While she really liked to draw, her urge to be perfect at everything she did battled with realizing the simple fact that she was only mediocre talented at drawing. She would never become a famous artist. It had caused her to store away her sketch-pad some months ago, to the endless disappointment of Harry and Roxanne.

"I'm not good at it," she pouted "nothing like you and your voice."

"I still like your works," Harry admitted with a smile. "And it relaxes you. And you like to draw, admit it."

Daphne frowned and shook her head. Harry's smile intensified and he started to shake her. "Admit it. You like drawing."

"Do not," she pouted.

"Do too," he turned around and started to tickle her, earning him a screech. Daphne tried to escape, Harry tried to keep her in the bed, all the while continuing to tickle her.

"Do not," she gasped, being very aware of her position and the thinness of her silken summer nightgown.

Neither teenager noticed the door opening, nor someone watching them for a while, a smile gracing her lips. Suddenly both teenagers stopped their shenanigans, as they noticed their observer.

"Am I disturbing anything?" Roxanne asked, her voice amused, and her left eyebrow raised.

"No," Harry gulped, trying to cover Daphne with the blanket, a gesture she commented with a raised eyebrow of her own. _Really?_

"Get ready," Roxanne ordered and left the room again, laughing only after she closed the door firmly.

Harry sank back into his pillow. "I'm so dead."

.

_**Ministry of Magic – a very cosy prison cell**_

.

_Traitors, all of them._

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was fuming and rightly so – in his own mind at least. It was him against the whole world. His whole life he had been fighting for the Greater Good. He had foregone a private life, had spent every single moment living for others, and never strayed from the path of light. Hundreds if not thousands of wizards and witches owed him their life. Dozens of Ministers, Unspeakables, teachers and researchers all over the world owed him their professional success. Not to forget his incredible work as a teacher and researcher on his own, like the twelve uses of dragon blood.

_They should be on their knees thanking me_, _all of them_, Albus mused while grinding his teeth.

_There should be statues and paintings of me everywhere, places named after me and perhaps a little name's day party_. Not that he actually demanded it. He was far too modest to do such a thing. However, it would have been the right and honourable thing to do so.

Instead they scolded him, chased him out of office and position. They called him names and dared to question his past actions. Amelia Bones should have been whipped for her impertinence and Minister Fudge tarred and feathered for his disloyalty. Didn't he owe his own position only to Albus' generosity? And now he dared to betray him, to complot with other ratfinks against him.

First his students and friends from the staff had betrayed him. Yeah, what kind of friends they were. Even Minerva and Filius had turned their back to him. Thinking about it, even more disturbing was the betrayal of Hagrid. He never thought that to be possible. Then the order had more or less disbanded and lost their trust in his judgement. The Ministry and even the DMLE turned against him, dared to question and prosecute him.

His family – he had known that they weren't really loyal. Had he not tried to protect his sister? But still his brother blamed him for her death and was barely able to stay polite around him. That blasted painting of his ancestor and its insults was only another nail in his coffin.

And now Fawkes – like Hagrid he had never expected something like this to happen. His own phoenix had betrayed him, made it impossible for him to step in when the last battle between Light and Darkness happened, forcing him to battle Augusta and kill her. He didn't like the idea of killing Augusta Longbottom. She was misguided and woefully short-sighted but had her heart in the right place. He would miss her.

_Traitors, all of them._

With a deep sigh Albus stopped his roaming around his little cell and sat down. He had been there during his imprisonment – Harry. And he still had the scar. Not that it was possible to extract it without the boy dying. It was idle drivel to speak otherwise, the false hopes of the weak in mind and will. The boy still needed his help to see reason, to accept his fate and death. It was unfortunate but inevitable. _We all will remember you, Harry, as our hero. But the hero has to die in the end_.

Perhaps his imprisonment had a good side in the end. He would fight Augusta and win. Albus didn't even remember why he ever feared to lose that duel. He was the mightiest wizard of Britain, experienced beyond measure and in possession of the Elder Wand. He couldn't lose. Afterwards, many of his critics would forget everything that had happened in the past. They were sheep, all of them, following the strongest leader. His friends – the few that had stayed true to him – had told him about the movement to dispose of Fudge.

_Perhaps I should use the next few days to think about the next Minister. Someone has to take Fudge's place and I will be occupied with more pressing matters_. Albus nodded gravely to himself. _Yes, let's think about that._

.

_**Toledo – first of August – late morning**_

.

"Here we are… back again." Harry gave Daphne a one-armed hug while he looked around in the small, plain room. Barely one year ago they had been waiting in that same room, preparing for another ritual albeit a very different one. Back then, they waited to get introduced into the Congregation. Today, they would attempt to get rid of his scar.

_No_, Harry corrected himself, remembering Hermione's pep talk from the day before. _Don't even think like this. We won't 'attempt' to get rid of the scar. We will succeed with the task_. Her index finger had drilled a little hole in his shoulder, accentuating each word with another poke. She had that look of determination in her eyes; that look that made you believe everything was possible. Harry knew she had done the same with Daphne the day before.

"I look a little stupid, don't you think?" Neville asked, his attempt to distract Harry from the task at hand a tad too obvious. Like the rest of them, he wore his traditional Congregation ritual robe, complete with embroideries and a loosely knotted belt.

"You look dashing," Hermione responded, smoothing down a few wrinkles, her hands staying on his broad shoulders for a moment.

"Not as much as you, Mione," Neville smiled. He was right, Harry noticed. Those robes had been created with women in mind. They looked far better in them. _Perhaps a bit too good_, he thought with a frown. In a few minutes, dozens of people would see Daphne in that form-fitting robe.

They had arrived at the small chapel near Toledo half an hour ago. Now the guests could be heard outside. Thirty-five of them would be there, completing their number to a grand total of thirty-nine, an important number in the Congregation. Thirteen, like five and seven, was an important magical number. Thirteen was often used for rituals. Three times thirteen was the number of witches and wizards leading the Congregation and it would be the totaal number of today's participants.

_Hopefully they didn't come in vain. Hopefully everything will go as planned._

"We'll leave you alone for a moment," Neville offered, sensing Harry's mood swing. Hermione frowned and wanted to say something, but Neville stopped her by gently putting a finger on her lips and shaking his head. After a moment she responded with a small sigh and an even smaller nod. Before she allowed Neville to drag her away, she gave a curt but no less heartfelt hug to Daphne and placed a small kiss on Harry's cheek.

"They're good friends," Daphne commented their departure softly.

"The best you could wish for," Harry agreed.

"You're not so bad yourself," Daphne smiled thinly.

"That's good to hear," Harry whispered before pulling Daphne into an embrace. They were allowed to forget the world out there for a few more minutes, to concentrate only on each other.

.

"A cat, really?"

The elderly wizard was standing between Nel and Mother Sarah, watching the rest of the guests arriving at the chapel and gathering in small groups for little talks among friends. He knew more than half of them, had seen pictures of a few others, and it had been simple to guess a few identities more by their discerning appearance. This one 'guest' however was the first to cause a reaction – a reaction he hadn't even shown as the quartet of non-human guests arrived.

"It's a tomcat actually," an airy voice corrected him. He turned around, his eyes stopping on a pair of young witches. The left one, the one that had spoken to him, had light blond hair and a bit beady eyes that seemed to not really see him. She hummed something and waved towards the black and white cat, cancel that: tomcat. _Did the tomcat just wink?_ The elderly wizard wondered.

"And he actually has a job to do in this ritual," the second witch glared. She was of Indian descent, one of the few participants not wearing a Congregation robe but a traditional Sari instead. With her long shiny black hair and those expressive dark eyes she was a real beauty – those eyes that were trying to prompt him to burst into flames right now. She pulled a notepad from a pocket, with all kind of numbers and diagrams covering it. While her blond friend started to glance around in a slightly distracted and bored way, the black haired witch searched through her notes for a moment until she found what she had been looking for.

"You're only here for the sheer numbers," she started to explain, ignorant of the soft looks from both Nel and Sarah. "The thirteen Congregation members participating only have an eight per cent part in the ritual, with you only counting for zero-point-five per cent. In comparison: Balou's presence boosts Daphne's leading part in the whole matter from an already domineering twenty-eight to a whopping thirty-nine per cent."

The elderly wizard looked around and got only shrugs from his two companions_. Told you so_, was the obvious meaning.

"I stand corrected, Miss Patil" he bowed slightly. She belonged to those participants he knew from pictures. Both girls had been asked to join the Congregation at a later date, after their seventeenth birthday. Both had agreed, as far as he knew.

Padma blushed a bit, luckily mostly hidden by her dark complexion. She only now realized she had spoken harshly to a wizard who was not only more than fifty years her senior, but apparently belonged to the leading circle of the Congregation. Not to forget: he was here, as everybody else, because he cared for Harry. That he knew her name as well, was only the icing on the cake of shame.

"I'm sorry," she hastily responded. "I didn't want to…"

"There is nothing to apologize," the wizard interrupted her. "Like it is the way of old men, I spoke before thinking. And a spirited mind willing to defend a friend – even a furry one – is nothing to be ashamed of. I see why Mother Joanna speaks highly of you… and your friend Miss Lovegood."

Luna appeared to be unfazed by the conversation and not really listening. Instead she linked arms with Padma before she had a chance for a response and dragged Padma towards her oldest friend who just arrived at the chapel. Padma threw an apologizing look towards her conversation partner but followed Luna willingly. There really was no chance not to comply. Luna was a force of nature on her own, really.

The trio watched the girls for a while, before the elderly wizard broke the silence, his voice laced with amusement. "So, zero-point-five per cent, that's my worth today."

Mother Sarah only shrugged. "I'm not much better. I only got zero-point-nine. Among the three of us, only Nel is noteworthy with her… how did she say?… with her whopping three per cent."

"In the end," Nel explained. "We're only here to support them morally. Harry actually only needs his three friends and that little tomcat. The inner ritual circle will be somewhat important to the success chance of the ritual, but most of the rest of us – he could do without. I however wouldn't miss this day for anything."

"Me neither."

.

_**Golden City**_

.

Ophelia dipped flannel into the Dittany water and continued to clean the wounds. She did it very carefully and thoroughly, trying not to cause too much pain but not to omit a single one. Alecto was lying there very still, unflinching, her face unmoving, only watching. The Dittany water belonged to a broad range of potions she used to help Alecto recover from her ordeal. Some of them were very expensive, not something Alecto could have afforded with the bulk of her wealth confiscated. Ophelia however had decided to exploit her brother's bad conscience and used some of his wealth. She had ordered Markus Flint to take the money and buy the potions in the magical quarters of Palermo and Venice. He had done a good job and seemed to be very happy about her thanks – a hug and a kiss to the cheek. _If only all men were so easy to handle_.

Drying Alecto's leg with a towel, she renewed the bandage, hoping that it would succeed in fading away the ugly scar. Most of the injuries were healing quite well, but a few of them would stay, this one – a bite leftover from Fenrir – being one of them. _At least she isn't pregnant_, Ophelia mused. It had been her greatest fear, but apparently Fenrir – while not being against bestowing her to other Werewolves as a reward – had cared for her not getting pregnant at those occasions. Fenrir himself had been obsessed with another… orifice. Ophelia shuddered. That wound would need some time to heal, physically but even more emotionally.

"Why are you doing this?"

Alecto's voice was far different to the one Ophelia knew from the past. It was broken, devoid hope and beaten. It was the voice of a woman not expecting anything anymore from life. _I will have to watch her closely_, Ophelia realized not for the first time. Suicide was a very real possibility. To be honest she didn't know her reasons for doing this, not all of them. She glanced towards Alecto's and saw only confusion there. _Did she remember the first twenty-four hours after getting here?_ She wondered. Alecto hadn't really understood what happened, had actually expected to only be put in that bed – her sick-bed – to wait for another 'visitor'. One moment she had been lying very still, ready to endure whatever happened. The next she had attacked Ophelia, seeing only another tormentor in her. Being magically bound and sedated, she had broken down and sobbed in a heart-rending way, not calming down until Ophelia slipped into the bed and allowed the distressed woman to hug her like a child waking up from a nightmare would.

"I know what you have to do," Alecto continued after a long moment of silence. "Flint told me, about you sleeping with Dolohov."

Ophelia frowned. "He had no right to tell you." She sighed deeply and shrugged. "It was my own decision. And it was certainly not as uncomfortable…" She stopped herself, her eyes widening. "I'm sorry," she uttered hoarsely.

"It's alright," Alecto said despite it certainly wasn't. "I'll live," she claimed without much conviction.

"Yes, you will," Ophelia Nott nodded, meaning it actually. "You'll take your potion every month and you'll continue your life. Shit, even Lupin was able to, being a teacher and all. He has his own business now and according to rumours he likes it."

"You don't actually compare me to that…?" Alecto wanted to call him a weakling or a beast but felt that she was both now as well.

"No, you wouldn't like a life as a teacher or only surrounded with books," Ophelia smiled. The Alecto she knew was far too active for such a life style. She would have to wait and see how much she changed. "Still, it is a beacon of hope that you can have a fulfilling life. And perhaps in a few years… Snape is working on a cure."

"You think he'll succeed?" Alecto asked, not daring to hope. She had no energy to spare for hating the traitor, especially when his work could give her new hope.

"I won't lie and say yes, but if anybody can that's him. He gets funds from Black and Potter, I heard, and those healers Potter surrounds himself with from all over Europe are supporting him in his research." She didn't tell where she got her knowledge from and Alecto didn't ask. She wanted to believe, if not brave enough to do so, not now.

Ophelia continued to clean her wounds and treat her, both women staying silent, until Alecto broke the silence.

"I won't return to him," she whispered. "I'll die before I allow him to take me back."

Ophelia stared at her for a long time, thinking about how much the woman had changed from the crazy bitch she remembered. She was more like an injured doe, frightened and her heart racing.

"No, "she shook her head. "You won't return. And you won't die. He'll die before that happens." The women, equal in a number of points but so different in others, shared a moment with each other, a moment of understanding.

_A Slytherin will kill for those he cares for._

.

_**Toledo – first of August – Noon**_

.

Someone clapped her hands loudly. "Take your places, please." The plea sounded far more like an order but that was no surprise. Roxanne was a loving mother and this ritual would decide the future of her children. _No joking around, Messieurs_.

One by one the small gatherings broke up and the participants walked to their positions. Thirty-nine positions had been marked with runes, small charms placed on them to tell everybody where they had to stand without having to ask. The soft shuffling was accompanied by the flatter of two pairs of wings as Mandragora and Hedwig left their places on the shoulders of the giantish Hagrid and ascended to the roof beams above. For a moment the owls enjoyed the wind currents above the gathering, the air elemental component of the ritual.

Hermione and Neville were already waiting at the centre of the whole arrangement, Hermione fondling Balou with her eyes closed while Neville used the moment to meditate and intensify his connection to the magical lines below. Crooks was present as well but resting at the edge of the room, so as not to disturb the ritual. It had been difficult enough to change the calculations to integrate Balou.

Hermione had no need to open her eyes to imagine vividly the arrangement of the ritual's participants. In the middle where the places of Harry and his friends, two by two around a spot that bore some runes especially constructed by Harry with the help of Nel and Monsieur Delacour, and charged to the rim with magical energy by Neville. It constituted the earth element today. Thirteen Fire braziers and seven water basins completed the quartet of elements.

Around the four friends those nine people would be standing in a circle, which were closest to them and most compatible to each other as well as to Harry. There had been long talks and even longer calculations to decide on the whole list. While a few people had been expected to belong to that circle from the start – nobody would have dared to question the places of Roxanne, Agatha or Ana – a few others had been a surprise.

The relation between Harry and Astoria had obviously changed so much since their first private meeting two years ago, that she now had a place side by side with her mother and grandmother. Carmen and Tonks were partly here because of their connection to Remus and Sirius, but it was clear how much they cared for the teenagers on their own as well. The last place belonged to Nel, naturally, as she would be assisting Daphne with leading of the ritual.

The outer circle was way larger and allowed places for twenty-six people, half of them high ranking members of the Congregation – the whole leading triumvirate was present today – while the rest consisted of thirteen close friends . While five of them were witches and easily integrable, the rest was not, their partly non-human and non-magical nature causing the Arithmancy team around Nel, Padma and Hermione to lose quite a few hairs and more than a few hours of sleep.

Hermione opened her eyes, her gaze lingering on each of the five witches for a moment.

Ginny, who had changed so much from the jealous little fan girl kicking the same tomcat that was now waiting in the middle of the room.

Luna, Susan and Padma; they had been staunch comrades for years, always supportive of Harry and his friends, never faltering in their friendship and loyalty.

And Minerva McGonagall; Hermione gulped and she had to suppress her tears. Luckily Neville didn't realize her emotions had nothing to do with today's ritual. They had just gotten her back, her old mentor; they had just been able to drag her away from Dumbledore's filthy claws only to…

_No_, Hermione shook her head. _Don't think about it, not today_.

"They look very excited," Neville mumbled into her ear, gesturing with his chin towards a pair of house-elves. Mother Joanna had been placed between them to keep them under control. Hermione nodded weakly, again fighting her tears. She knew exactly why Harry had been so adamant about inviting Ciddy, Dobby and the others. He wanted to have them around in this hour, wanted to see them one last time should anything bad happen.

_Everything will be alright_. Hermione heard her mother's voice in her mind, repeating the same words Hermione had told her a few weeks ago, waiting for her father's return. Needing some emotional support right now, she searched for her parents and found them watching her. Emma Granger's eyes sent her all her love while Dan nodded grimly.

Two house-elves, two Muggles, and two squibs – with Dudley and Petunia present as well, it was a very mixed gathering. And it meant Harry's whole family was present today. Not to speak of the half-giant Hagrid and Headmaster Flitwick, the half-goblin nearly as ecstatic as Dobby. Hermione knew how eager he was to have a long talk later with Daphne and her about the ritual's details. Hopefully all would go well and they would have the necessary patience.

She only missed Augusta and perhaps Amelia's presence, but the former was too agitated right now with the impending duel and Amelia simply had too much on her plate. They had to do without them.

Someone closed the heavy door and Hermione heard two people walk towards the middle. She identified Harry's steps – she would recognize them everywhere – and the far lighter ones of Daphne. Slowly, she turned around and awaited them. Harry looked calmer now, more composed than before. Daphne however seemed afraid, even terrified. She was obviously feeling the pressure mounting on her small shoulders and tensed as Harry sat down and pulled her into his arms. She only relaxed as Balou jumped into her lap, curling up like nothing special was going to happen and started to take a nap, purring loudly.

Like waves, Hermione saw the tension leave Daphne's body and mind. Everybody else noticed it too and a single elderly wizard heard a voice again in his mind: _the tomcat actually has a job to do in this ritual_.

There was no doubt about that anymore.

"Let us begin."

.

_**A web of hearts**_

Neville swayed back and forth slowly, his arms around Hermione, her head on his left shoulder, and the scent of her hairs filling his nostrils. There was a weird music in the air, supporting the singing voices in their chorus. He felt in his chest more than heard with his ears the Earth drumming. While the trumpets of the Air and the organ pipes of the Water at least seemed somewhat familiar, the hissing and sizzling of the Fire was completely foreign and still was in complete harmony with the other elements.

"Close your eyes." Nel's surprisingly thundering voice permeated the chamber.

They had been singing for more than an hour. There was the deep bass of Hagrid, the high squeaky voices of Ciddy and Dobby and sometimes he noticed one of the Pinegrew women especially missing the tune. It was no joke: they really couldn't sing and it seemed to run in the family. Still: the choir of the Congregation witches and wizards was a unified background and able to integrate the other so different voices, creating something astonishing, truly wonderful.

"_Let yourself go to the mood of the hour. Loosen up and feel the atmosphere."_

He felt the connections all around. There were those two incredible strong strings that connected Hermione to her parents. Muggle or not: nobody could deny the magic of love ever again after feeling this. A few steps apart he felt the nexus of Harry and Daphne, not unlike the one he formed with Hermione. Many string connected them to other participants all around. There were those of Petunia and Dudley, weaker than the Grangers but more similar than most would expect. While Petunia still had her moments around too much magic, it was undeniable that she had changed very much and now wholeheartedly accepted Harry as family.

"_Don't hold back. We're among friends, among family. There is no I and they, there is only us."_

Some auras felt familiar, some weird like those of the house-elves and Luna, and others simply foreign, but Neville still felt close to all of them. One by one they opened up. More and more strings appeared, connecting the different ritual participants to each other. There was Daphne's mind, leading them, erasing little faults in the web of strings, creating a wonderful and majestic mesh of magic. It glittered in his mind and brimmed with magic.

"_Let the magic flow. Feel it, feel the power of this ritual, and feel the might of this assembly."_

There was the little ping he had been waiting for, the little ping from Daphne that everything was ready for his part to begin. He knew that Hermione felt it as well and would act the same moment he did. For a second there was her smile in his heart, convincing him that everything would be alright. He hoped she felt it truly as well, as she had been nearly as tense and anxious as Daphne, despite her doing her best to calm her friends down. Neville reached out to the earth node in the middle of the room. Slowly he drew the magic to the surface, the magic that had been waiting to get used in the ritual.

"_Trust us. Don't be afraid. Let it flow, let it touch you."_

There was the first wave, it was a soothing stream of air, touching the minds and hearts and telling them to open to the next stage. With a small sigh, a sound reciprocated by Hermione and many others, Neville allowed Daphne's air to reach his heart and felt the doubts diminished.

Then came the second stage, the cleansing waters of Hermione. They rushed through the strings like they were water pipes. He nearly heard it burbling and gurgling, as it cleansed the magical strings, eased small nicks and straightened their course. They were ready for him.

And now it was time for him to act. It was like pulling a cork from a bottle, opening the way for the magic that was eager to spill out of its confining jar. It bubbled and darted into the mesh of lines connecting the participants, filled it in seconds and made it gleam with intensity of the magic.

"_Allow your mind to flow. Leave your body behind. You're only mind and emotions now."_

From one second to the next nothing was as it had been. It felt unreal and like a dream. The scenery was a bit foggy and Neville had the sense of floating. Hermione was the anchor in this like he was hers. A few steps away – or was it a hundred paces or even some miles? – he saw Harry and Daphne floating, alight with magic, seven flames dancing around them and dozens of magical lines touching them.

"_Why are you here? What do you wish for? Why do you want Harry to succeed?"_

Neville wasn't so naïve as to believe that everybody was here for Harry alone. Especially among the foreign Congregation members there were certainly other predominant reasons, and even among those close to Harry he expected varying degrees of hope to get one step nearer to a long-lasting peace with a successful ritual.

"{Let your love flow.}" This time it was Daphne's voice that filled their minds. Perhaps he should have been shocked to realize that she was able to use mind speech on such a huge gathering, but somehow he had expected it.

"{Show Harry how much he matters to you.}" It was certainly a bit sappy but it got the job done. Neville felt the floating magic change.

"{He is your comrade, your friend, your family. In this moment he is your everything.}" Neville was quite certain that his body was sobbing right now, not that he actually felt it as his mind and body started to separate. There was only this feeling of love as Daphne opened her heart and allowed everybody to see how she felt about Harry, baring her soul and keeping nothing back.

One by one the others followed her lead, opened their hearts and allowed their emotions to flow freely. There were differences, but similarities too. Most of the Congregation witches saw a comrade-in-arms in Harry, as could be expected. Mother Sarah however wasn't their emotional leader for nothing. Neville felt a strong stream of caring along her line, not for the boy-who-lived but for Harry, for the boy who deserved a future.

_Never again_. The sensation surprised him for a second but then he realized its origin. Never again was a feeling emanating from Minerva, Hagrid, Sirius and Remus. All four had this emotion around them of having failed Harry in the past. It was the strongest in Minerva unsurprisingly and she was sending forth everything that troubled her, baring her feelings nearly as much as Daphne did.

Neville felt torn between laughing and weeping as he sensed the emotions of Dobby and Ciddy wash over him. Especially Dobby was eager to be part of this, to scream into their faces and hearts how much he adored and loved "Great Wizard Harry Potter Master". Ciddy was equally concerned about Harry and her young Mistress, hoping for a happy end. How could anybody not care for a being filled with such loyalty, friendship and love?

_Family_ – that was the dominating feeling he got from Roxanne, Ana, Astoria and Agatha but the Evans as well. Roxanne was certainly domineering this group but Agatha wasn't far behind. The sense from Dudley was surprisingly strong, what a change to his "Harry hunting" only a couple of years ago. Roxanne redirected some of her emotions towards Daphne for a moment, being rejoined by the other Pinegrew women only seconds later. They were there for her as well and for a moment Neville felt bad to have forgotten how important this ritual was for Daphne as well. He joined hands with Hermione and they sent their hug to their friend.

One by one the four girls joined them. Both Padma and Susan were equally close to Harry and Daphne, wanted to support the both of them. Friendship was there, sisterly feeling towards Daphne especially from Padma and small crushes towards Harry as well. They certainly weren't the only female students to have a little crush on the black-haired boy. Ginny was a bit different. There were still deeper feeling towards Harry and for a moment she hesitated to open up. Daphne however would know nothing of that. She pulled the redhead into their group of friends. _You belong with us_, was her saying.

The last one to join them was Luna. The feeling around her was different and a tad weird. It was like a little hare hiding between Harry and Daphne, like a small bluebell flame illuminating their small world, and spending them hope and joy. Sisters and brothers, that was how Luna felt towards the quartet, and Neville was stunned to notice the intensity of her feelings towards all of them, even him. She was their little sister and nobody should ever dare to hurt her.

"{It is time, Daphne.}"

.

_**Look with your heart**_

Hermione glanced around, watched as the nine members of the inner ritual circle turned around, away from Harry and Daphne to give them some emotional privacy, creating a screen around them. She felt Neville pulling her towards her friends until they stood to their left and right, their hands still interwoven. With every step she felt another wave of emotions emanating from them. In a few moments she would see their innermost heart and mind. She knew that nothing would be the same after this. Not even her parents would be this close to her.

"{Let it go, Harry.}" Daphne's voice whispered in the air. It was like a gentle hand caressing him. Step by step he loosened up. If Hermione thought she had seen him open-hearted before, she was taught better in these moments. She felt all the fear, the disappointments of the past, the signs of emotional abuse and his sense of not being worthy. However, she felt his positive feelings as well. His love for his family – birth and adopted alike. The friendship towards Sirius and Remus and the far deeper one towards Neville and her. There was his string connecting him to Ginny and Luna. There was no doubt anymore that he saw only sisters in them, but sisters he loved as much as Astoria and promised to always protect them.

"{Let it go, Harry. I'll never hurt you.}" Neville understood. The last barrier was that protecting Harry's heart from betrayal, disappointment and abandonment. Opening his heart to Daphne would also mean making himself vulnerable. Baring his emotions like this would give her a weapon to mortally wound him if she ever wished to.

"Don't!" As hissing voice suddenly whispered. Neville shuddered. There was so much evil in this voice. "She'll betray you like the others did. Don't forget what Ginny and Ron did."

Harry hesitated for a moment. Ginny hadn't been responsible for her doing and he felt more pity than anything else towards his former mate, but they had hurt him nonetheless. They hadn't been nearly as close to him. He hadn't been as vulnerable as he would be after opening his heart to Daphne.

"{Don't listen to it, mate,}" Neville's voice reached him. Harry felt Neville at his side, the steadiness and grounding his mate offered him. "{Look her in the eyes and you'll get your answer.}"

Harry did as he was bidden. Daphne did herself what she begged him to do, she opened her heart and mind and showed him all of her: her fears, her hopes and her dreams. There was no doubt whom she loved, whom she hated. Right in that moment she hated that small dark sliver in Harry's mind that spoke to his fears with all her passion. Yesterday, today and tomorrow she would love him all the same.

"{I trust her with your life and your heart, Harry,}" Hermione whispered. And so did Harry. Ignoring the continued ramblings of the sliver, pushing away the pictures of every betrayal in the past, how he realized Dumbledore's part in all of that and how "Mother Molly" showed her true self, he followed Daphne's example and opened up, letting down the last barrier. Tiny step by tiny step, the magic and mind of Harry and Daphne merged, shining brighter and brighter with every step, until Neville and Hermione had to close their eyes.

_They are really close to each other_, Neville mused. They were far closer than could be expected from sixteen-year-old teenagers that had only been together for 18 months. However, mind speech and all those hours opening up in preparation for this one day had lengthened those 18 months to a felt duration of 18 years at least. Nel had been right: even Hermione couldn't have done this, even she wasn't this close, this trusted on a complete primal level.

Following an impulse, Neville followed their lead and allowed his friends and especially Hermione to see, to have a look into his mind, see the scars from years of being treated like a squib, from years of belittlement and insults. There were, however, also the traces of the last two years, of growing up, of becoming more confident; traces of his friendship with Harry and Daphne and his love to Hermione. The endless joy after his mother waking up; the feeling as he was able to hug his father again; and the first time he noticed the pride in Augusta's eyes. These three were his love and his friends. He allowed them to see all.

Hermione wanted to follow him, she really did. But it was hard, so hard, to allow the walls to crumble. For more than a decade she had been hurt again and again by others, used for her intelligence and discarded afterwards by false friends as not worthy of their friendship. Belittled for her appearance and mocked for her thirst for knowledge, she had few friends in the past. Could she really do this?

"{But you have friends now, Mione.}" The four friends were shocked to hear Luna's voice. "{You have sisters and brothers, aunts and uncles, and you have Neville. You'll never be alone again.}"

"{She's right, love,}" Neville whispered. He didn't want to force her but he knew that she would be sad and angry at herself for missing this moment, so he gently pulled her out of her shell, slowly pushing away the walls around her. Harry and Daphne only watched them, did nothing as this was Neville's moment, and only supported them with their smiles. Hermione gulped and slowly nodded, offering Neville a shaky smile. A first little step, another one, and one by one she joined her friends. And then there was only light, four blazing lights joined in friendship, ready to battle the sliver of darkness in their midst, ready to free Harry's soul from the taint and make him free.

"{We're ready.}"

.

_**The last Defence**_

The sliver of darkness was conspicuous. It glistened like rain drops and seemed to drip malevolence into their circle. Hermione heard its voice, still trying to convince Harry not to continue, not to trust them, and to protect himself from their influence. It was like a background noise, not really able to influence them but still annoying and distracting. There was another background noise as well, getting louder and louder now.

_Purring, that's purring_, she realized and looked down. She hadn't noticed but there was a fifth light among them as well, far smaller and far fainter than theirs but unmistakable. Hermione expected to see the form of a tomcat, like a small Patronus and certainly very similar to the alive Balou. Instead there were four animals interwoven, creating some kind of beautiful chimera. Eagle wings, a snake tail and the claws of a badger, all attached to the body of a small lion. _The ritual, she realized. Daphne has merged the four aspects of Hogwarts to Balou in the second ritual_.

Balou looked up and actually winked, before he turned to Harry and intensified the purring, overlaying the annoying ramblings of the darkness. Harry was totally calm now, his eyes locked with Daphne's. He nodded slowly, his smile trusting. Daphne raised her hands. A scalpel appeared in one of them and pliers in the other one. Harry didn't even flinch. He simply continued to smile and to look into Daphne's eyes while she put the scalpel onto his forehead. The darkness started to scream, the noise getting lost in the increased purring. Blood poured from the wound as Daphne started to cut the skin. It was hard to watch for Hermione and Neville. They could do nothing, only be there for them. This was the moment of Daphne and Harry.

Hermione gulped as Daphne neared the wound with the pliers. Several times its appearance changed, turned into the heated tongs of a smith and the wicked looking ones of a torturer. It was the last attempt of the darkness to prompt Harry to back away. It had no luck in that. Harry didn't move a single inch. Hermione paled and Neville gulped. It looked like Daphne would pull a tooth without anaesthesia. She was concentration only, weaving the pliers left and right until she got hold. Only as she started to pull, did Harry flinch and grimace. The pain had to be incredible. The sliver thread tried to hold tight, like sinking teeth and claws into Harry. Neville and Hermione did their best to keep him steady while Daphne increased her pull. Millimetre by millimetre it started to move, something akin to tar connecting it to the wound. And suddenly it was all gone. Harry staggered for a second, his eyes unable to focus.

Then there it was, the darkness, kept prisoner by Daphne's pliers. Harry was free at last.

.

_**Calling for help**_

"{You have to destroy it.}" Daphne whispered, her face telling of the exhaustion she felt. Scalpel and pliers were only an imagination, a reflexion of her real actions. It was her mind and magic that was doing all the work and it was clearly taxing to her.

The darkness screamed, tried to move away and escape its captor. It wanted to reach for Harry and be free from those damned pliers again. Daphne struggled to keep it under control. Harry nodded slowly, now able to think clearly again. He gestured towards the circle of flames, and they slowly descending, aiming towards his open palms.

"{What's that?}" Neville asked, being the first to notice the change. Thin tendrils came into existence, reached out for something far away.

"{Three?}" Hermione whispered. "{Three tendrils…}" Her eyes widened as an epiphany hit her. "{It's reaching for the other Horcruxes. It wants their help to defend itself.}" Her friends stared at her and one by one they nodded in agreement. They had to hurry, had to destroy it before the darkness succeeded in its attempt.

"{Strengthen Daphne, Neville.}" Harry shocked them by his sudden command. His friends only needed a blink of an eye to understand what he wanted to do, but before Hermione had a chance to stop him, Harry had already acted, trusting his mate to protect his love. And exactly that Neville did, ignoring the angry screams of Hermione, knowing that she only cursed Harry because of her concern. She knew as well as Daphne and Neville that it was in Harry's nature to act like this, to risk everything for those he cared about. Without a word, Neville directed a bigger amount of the energy towards Daphne, steadying her, and allowing her to keep control of the still struggling darkness.

_Be swift, Harry_, he wished silently. _Be swift and return soon_.

.

_**It's a long way to Tipperary**_

If the events so far had been a weird experience, this voyage was completely outside everything he had ever gone through. His mind had left his body behind and was following the tendrils – all three at the same time as he had no idea how long Daphne would be able to keep the darkness under control.

Three parts of his mind followed three tendrils through the ether, three landscapes rushed below, separating from each other more and more with every second. At the beginning all three tendrils looked very much alike but very soon he noticed the differences. One of them had a younger feeling about it and one tendril was stronger than the others. They had completely separate destinations in mind and not only the directions but also the distances seemed to be very different. Each of his mind slivers was accompanied by one of his flames while the other four were left behind, guarding his friends.

"{Everything is under control so far.}" He felt immense relief as Hermione's words reached him, something that didn't even change as she followed up with a string of blaspheme curses about his recklessness. _Please never change, Mione_, he smiled.

After a while he saw familiar land below one of his mind slivers. _Could it be? Could they have been so blind?_ Scotland – that was Scotland below him, and not simply any part of the land but a part well-known, a region he had often crossed on his broom. A well-known forest, a lake he had often watched deep in thoughts, and a castle he regarded as home. Suddenly his movement stopped, as he saw it: the tendril was searching for its counterpart. Could he allow it? It would ease the search later but at a horrible risk for Daphne. He had no idea how much a completed connection would strengthen the darkness, if Daphne would still be able to keep it under control.

No, he couldn't risk it. They knew now that one Horcrux was hidden in Hogwarts. They would be able to find it, he had no doubt about it. _It's time to end this part_, Harry decided. Without waiting for another moment, he grabbed the flame flying at his side, turned it into a torch with a flick of his hand and set it against the tendril. It tried to dodge the flame and Harry had to grab it and press the torch against the slick feeling tendril. Instantly it started to rock back and forth like a bucking horse. It screamed as the flames touched it, clipped it apart. Within seconds it recoiled and diffused, mimicking vanishing fog.

_I have to get back_, Harry realized with slight panic. He raced towards the tendril and followed it, even faster than before. With every step another part of the tendril diffused, like the torch had induced a chain reaction. Was it moments, minutes or hours later? Harry didn't know. He only noticed that at least a part of his mind was back in his body.

Now he had to wait for the rest to arrive.

.

While Harry's mind was separated into three slivers following the three tendrils, his knowledge was not. At the same second his first sliver realized the danger of a connection to the destination, his other two thirds knew it as well.

Harry Two was following his tendril towards the south and a bit to the east. Very soon it reached the channel, crossed it and invaded France, only to continue its way towards Germany and further ahead. He felt how Harry One returned to the ritual chamber, knew the state of Daphne, trembling with exhaustion despite Neville's help. He didn't have much time left and he felt something dark waiting in front of him. While Hogwarts had been a secure destination, this place certainly wasn't. Rolling hills turned into a mountain range and he saw a beautiful river meandering through the land.

The tendril was pulsating stronger now and Harry Two knew that they were nearing its destination. He had to decide how long to continue. Harry One sent urgent messages as the two still existing tendrils were incredible taxing to Daphne. If he was too slow, a connection would be catastrophic. In the distance a city appeared, resting on both sides of the river. It shimmered in the afternoon sun and he was happy about the hours he had spent with the Pinegrew women watching pictures of possible travel destinations. He knew that sight: the Golden City – Prague.

The tendril he was following started to descend. It raced towards the city, got faster and faster, while a wall of darkness became visible in front of him. There was some kind of ward waiting, newly erected to hide something. It had to be the reason why Brychan hadn't been able to find it so far. He had to decide and so he did. Knowing that the second Horcrux, the strongest of the three, was hidden in Prague would help them. It was time to stop this danger.

With determination in his eyes, Harry set the second tendril aflame.

_Time to return home._

.

Harry Three had the longest distance to pass by far. Not only had he crossed France and Spain but the Mediterranean as well. Now he was following it over northern Africa. Perhaps he would even pass that part of Sudan where Hermione had been with her parents, only weeks ago.

The tendril was getting slower and thinner slowly and Harry gradually doubted that it would be able to reach its destination. Perhaps the distance was too long. It was targeting the youngest and weakest Horcrux. He assumed it was the one Tom Riddle had created as he sacrificed Andy Tonks, on the wand that belonged to Hagrid decades ago. Slowly the tendril started to move erratically and Harry noticed another reason of its weird behaviour. There was something in the sky above the part of Dark Africa they had been flying towards. It was like a dome of dark clouds, unnatural and frightening.

And while he wasn't certain about the tendril finding its target, he felt no urge about experiencing what would happen should it touch those weird clouds.

Hogwarts, Prague and Central Africa – one should be easy to find, the second manageable at least. That Hafsa which Baron Pascal mentioned should be around here_. I'll have to trust her to find the third_. Moments before the tendril reached the cloud, moments before 'something' could happen, Harry stopped this part of his voyage as well.

He only had time to sigh once before his long travel back started.

_I really hope I never have to do something like this again. _

.

_**Cleansing Flames**_

_Three!_

Only now with his whole mind returned to his body, only now that he had a moment to breath and think, did Harry realize the one important bit of information he got: there had been three tendrils – not two nor four but exactly three. So there were 'only' three other Horcruxes hidden. They hadn't missed one in their research but had been correct so far. It wasn't an overwhelming information or an eye-opening epiphany but still it was soothing to get such a confirmation. The same applied to the locations. Hogwarts was a surprise, yes. And Central Africa was a very big area. Even Prague would be difficult to comb for such a small object – especially when they were forced to stay low-key while searching. Still his knowledge would help immensely.

"{Harry!}" He knew immediately it wasn't the first time Hermione was calling him. Her hissing his name was a big tell indeed.

He looked up and paled. Daphne looked far worse than expected. Neville was supporting her as much as possible, while his earth magic created some kind of cage around the darkness. A bubble of water was covering the cage and darkness, like some coolant. Earth and Water constituted two of the four elements they needed to destroy the darkness, Harry knew.

"{Stop day-dreaming; we have to end this.}" There was immense concern in her voice, far outweighing her anger and he had no trouble to understand her reasoning. Daphne was trembling, shuddering like a leaf in a strong wind, barely clinging to its twig. Sweat was not dripping but streaming down her face, her skin deathly pale with exhaustion. Her hands were shaking wildly and without Neville's support she certainly would have fainted. He hadn't returned one minute too soon.

Without another prod Harry nodded and concentrated on the fire. Slowly the seven flames formed into a single one, looking like a fiery snake eager to coil around the darkness. It crept towards its target, the water retracted for a moment to allow the fire to heat it up.

_Earth to keep it prisoner!_

_Fire to burn it!_

_Water to freeze it!_

_Air to shatter it asunder!_

Only it didn't, Harry realized with horror. It had been their plan, and it had been a simple but good one. Application of history and simply physics: his fire would heat up the darkness: Hermione's water would freeze it, turning it into a grey and crumbly matter. Hannibal had done the same 22 centuries ago with boulders blocking his path across the Alps. Neville's earth magic would keep it in place, unable to escape the barrage of fire and water. And then, at the right moment, Daphne would use her air as a blade to shatter it.

Only she was unable to do her part right now. He had been away for too long and she was exhausted beyond measure. His mind raced, pondering all kind of alternatives. Balou was here, but he was more fire than air, the lion still dominating the other parts. They hadn't prepared anything to give Daphne a magical boost, some kind of pepper-up potion. Perhaps his mother could help. She was air like Daphne but her elemental magic wasn't as strong as her daughter's and she never really tried to develop it. She couldn't help them, even if she was able to reach them at this place.

_So: what now?_

Suddenly a heart-rending mew pierced the chamber. Flabbergasted Harry looked down at Daphne's tomcat and saw his plea, Balou's wish to help his mistress. "{You can't do…}"

He interrupted his speech as he noticed 'something' descending from high above, answering to Balou's call. There was a fluttering in the air and he felt a draught of air. 'Someone' tried to reach them but that wasn't possible. They had long left behind the purely physical world. Thanks to the ritual and with the help of the whole assembly, Harry and his friends were 'somewhere' right now, somewhere in the borderland between this world and the next, between body and mind, emotion and magic. Not even Roxanne would have been able to cross that line, not now. Only someone incredible close to them, magically close, could be able to…

Again there was a flutter in the air and Harry felt a second draught of air, this time close and strong enough to stir his hair. He followed Balou's expecting glance towards the ceiling and saw something move there. It was very unclear in the beginning, no more than an irregular cloud. Slowly his sight became clearer, the edges more definite.

"Hedwig," Harry whispered in awe.

The snow-white owl descended, broke through the barrier separating the chamber from… wherever exactly Harry and his friends currently stayed. A mew from Balou and a barely audible "Hedwig," from a faintly smiling Daphne greeted her, the girl being only seconds away from fainting as Harry felt for a certainty.

The darkness was still incarcerated in Neville's earth. Fire and Water were still battling with its structure, keeping it warm and cold at the same time, turning it brittle and fragile. Hedwig didn't hesitate a single moment but aimed straight.

"SCREEECH!"

The stream of air hit the darkness like a fist, cut it like a dozen blades and shredded it into dozens of tiny bits floating to the ground, Harry's fire doing the rest. Barely a handful of dust remained.

"Meow!" Balou's mewling broke Harry's rapture and he jumped just in time to fetch Daphne who was slumping to the ground. He didn't notice the chamber around him returning to its former state, the stares of wonder from the assembly as he and his friends became clearly visible again. He had only eyes for the unconscious girl in his arms.

"She'll be alright again, Balou," he tried to soothe the tomcat who was watching them intently, trying to wake his mistress with butting his head against her and nibbling at her fingers. Harry looked up to his mother for confirmation. She had squeezed past Hermione and Neville – his mate's arm around her and Hedwig sitting on his shoulder – and cast some diagnosis spells. After some time – far too long in Harry's mind – she sighed and nodded; a tiny smile on her lips. "She's only exhausted and will need a few days of rest."

Harry felt relief but bad at the same time. If only he had returned sooner.

"We've done it, Harry. Daphne will recover and you are free at last. It's everything she wanted. Don't you dare to feel bad about it," Hermione told him and after a moment of thinking Harry nodded.

"You're right." Only now did he really grasp it. "We actually did it, didn't we?" He hugged the unconscious Daphne gently. "We really did it. I'm free again."

.

_**A/N**_

_Phew! Nearly 11k words but the cleansing is done. And Harry has some important leads regarding the remaining Horcruxes._

_Next chapter however will be about something different, a kind of side-adventure of Hafsa. _

_After that: Hogwarts and Crooks._


	11. Chapter 11 I need a stiff drink

_**A/N**_

_**Chapter Replacement**_

_Apparently the original chapter 11 of this story confused or irritated quite a number of my readers, as it centred on Hafsa alone and contained no HP. As nalaniekeala mentioned in her review: "__A short interlude moment with the results of the "trial" and decision would have flowed better."_

_Because of this I decided to replace the original chapter with a new one. This one now contains a number of scenes I wanted to write but so far hadn't the space to fit them in._

_**The original chapter will be posted as a one-shot on its own.**_

_ Twilight Knight of Darkness: have no fear. I didn't lose interest in the story. It's only working stress cutting into my writing time – this and I promised my dear wife to write her a story on its own as a present for her next birthday. _

_**This chapter will be shorter than usual, but the next one is already finished and will be posted on Monday.**_

.

**I need a stiff drink**

.

_**Somewhere near Nottingham**_

.

He awoke with a splitting headache. It was way too hot and very uncomfortable. Henry Broden needed a few minutes to realize the exact 'nature' of his position.

He was lying in a bed.

He was in his birthday suit.

He was not alone.

This alone wasn't so bad in itself. He liked to drink and have a good shag afterwards. More often than not he or his partner woke up alone, but sometimes it was nice to have breakfast together and exchange telephone numbers for a possible second go. It was rare but it happened. This however was something different.

The first thing he noticed – aside from the hammering in his head – was the smell.

Cats.

Sweat.

Cheap flowery perfume.

Henry Broden nearly gagged. The hammering was the result of three bottles of far too sweet and heavy liquor. The smell however told him that Smythers little plan had been successful so far: he had bedded the wonderful and aesthetically pleasing Bella. _Gag!_

A loud snore – the sound being neither cute nor ladylike – reminded him that he wasn't alone. Slowly, as if fearing the sight, he turned around. Fearing it he did actually, as seeing the woman would make it real and not simply a bad dream. Not looking into her doughy face allowed him to pretend he had bedded a woman that didn't tempt him to vomit all over her. He finished the move and there she was.

'Bella' was lying on her back, her mouth open, and every few seconds a snore escaping her mouth – a mouth he had kissed a few times last night. He stared at her neck and for a while imagined how it would feel to snap it – or to throttle her until she was blue in the face, what certainly would have been an improvement in appearance. To his regret it couldn't be. 'Bella' may be mad – hell, she certainly was mad as a hatter – but she wasn't stupid. She had a distinct survival instinct and used a number of charms to protect her from any 'silliness' on his part – even now, asleep, with her wand resting on the sideboard.

As he moved a bit, pain rushed through his right shoulder. He looked down and his eyes widened as he noticed the bite-mark there. _Oh dear! How wonderful_. Now that he thought about it, there were other places all over his body hurting too. He had to take care of them. Or better even: he had to make Smythers take care of it. It was her fault that he was in this position after all.

Careful not to wake her up, Henry Broden aka Rastaban Lestrange rolled to the side and out of the bed. He suppressed a hiss of pain as he hit the floor. He had scratches and bite-marks all over the body. Apparently 'Bella' had confused him with some kind of scratching post. For a moment he wondered if he could have caught rabies. Hopefully not but it was still possible.

Slowly he got up. Turning around he saw his clothes, ripped apart mostly. He shuddered again. Usually it was him who ripped apart the dress of his date – the ladies liked the show of sexual eagerness. Or so he thought until now. To be the object of such behaviour himself, changed his view a bit. The picture of 'Bella' ripping of his clothes, foam at her big mouth, forced him to press his hands against his mouth to supress his last meal making an appearance.

Looking around he fetched a dressing gown from a clothes hook at the wall. It was pink, with yellow and blue cats on it and far too big. Still it did the job to hide his nudity.

Now he only had to find Smythers.

And endure her laughing spree at his sight.

Hopefully she would die choking.

.

_**Longbottom Manor**_

.

When her trusted house-elf announced a surprise guest, Augusta Longbottom didn't know what to expect.

Three days ago Neville had turned sixteen. Only yesterday he had returned from the cleansing ritual – a complete and utter success, as he told her proudly. With new knowledge gained about the Horcruxes, they would go to Hogwarts in a few days. For now however, Hermione and Neville were recuperating from the ordeal. They spent the day together, with both pairs of parents hovering, taking care of every wish and slowly grating on their nerves with all the fussing.

"Filius," Augusta greeted her old friend, with a smile but nonetheless apprehensive of the reason of his visit. The tiny headmaster looked a bit pale and there was an aura of anxiousness and sadness around him. "Please take a seat," she offered him a place at the window with a wonderful look over the garden. She remembered how much he liked it and felt even more concerned when he refused.

"You are creeping me out a little, Filius," Augusta admitted.

"I know," he answered with a small voice. "I'm sorry." He blinked a few times. Suddenly he pulled a vial from his pocket. Augusta noticed the scrawny scribble, telling her about the nature of the content: a very strong calming potion. Before she had a chance to ask, he listed some anecdotes of her past: "in your second year you wrote an assignment about beauty charms with a special emphasis on hats. You got an EE for that assignment. It was the only time you didn't get an O in Charms."

Augusta nodded, feeling somewhat flabbergasted at his mention of that moment, certainly not her proudest. She had been a little girl back then.

"We met for the first time on your seventh birthday. I accompanied a friend who had been invited by your parents. My birthday gift to you was a marble elephant, charmed to run around and hoot from time to time."

Augusta had to grin for a moment. The elephant had driven her parents mad – until it had an unforeseen accident. Afterwards it was only able to run anymore, no hooting. "Why do you tell me this, Filius?"

"To prove I'm really Filius Flitwick," was his surprising answer. "Do you trust me?"

Augusta narrowed her eyes at the question but simply nodded.

Filius offered her the potion. "I want you to drink this and follow me."

Augusta narrowed her eyes even more. After a while she grabbed the vial without a word, uncorked it and gulped the content down. "This better be good, Filius."

"This will be anything but good, Augusta," was the ominous answer.

.

_**London – near the Ministry**_

.

_**Amelia Bones**_

"I really don't know," Amelia leaned towards Brychan and whispered into his ear. It was nearly cute to see the elsewise so strong woman behave like an insecure schoolgirl.

"You aren't getting cold feet now?" He mumbled back with a soft growl in his voice. Brychan linked arms with her and led her towards the door of the restaurant, opened it and accompanied her into the lions' den.

The more time had passed since Voldemort's demise, the more people started to forget what Amelia had done for them and the more they had changed from small jokes to open jealousy and sneered disdain about her relationship. He was her secretary and he was younger by more than a decade. Both would have been alright for a man, but in the male-dominated magical society of Britain a woman wasn't allowed the same courtesy. For a woman of the society other measures counted.

"They're staring again," she whispered. She was right, Brychan knew, but he wasn't willing to let them influence him. He liked Amelia very much. He loved her and he had no doubt that one day he would be in love. The past hadn't been easy for them, neither would the future. He had no intention to face it all alone. It had needed days of heated discussions to convince her to get here – together, on a date, in the open. They had entered one of the restaurants around the Ministry, one that was mostly used by higher ranking officials and their families. These were the people Amelia had to face every day, to work together with. More than one pair of eyes were resting on them right now. More than one mouth was drawn into a pouting grimace.

"Amelia!"

The shout prompted Amelia to turn around. For the first time since leaving the Ministry building a smile crept onto her face. A few tables away the whole Diggory family was sitting, Ginny Weasley at Cedric's side. Ignoring the stares and glares from every society lady around, Cecilia Diggory was waving at her, inviting Amelia and Brychan to join them. Her heart a bit lighter, Amelia followed the invitation and greeted the family warmly. All four appeared happy to meet her. Amos, like Arthur Weasley, belonged to the few higher-ups in the Ministry that had never turned against her.

A few minutes later, the small gathering was enjoying their meal and exchanging inconsequential stories. Perhaps Cecilia did exaggerate somewhat with her integration of Brychan into the small talk, but Amelia was thankful for the effort. And when Cecilia started to share stories with Amelia about Ginny and Cedric – ignoring their blushing and gasping – while asking about Susan's love life, they nearly forgot the observers all around the restaurant; nearly but not completely.

"Where is your father, Ginny?" Since Ginny turned into a close friend of her niece Susan, Amelia had started to call her by her given name and even allowed her to call her Aunt Amelia. She liked the little spitfire Ginny had turned into. She was grown up far beyond her years, thanks to the events in her first year and again two years ago. Possession through a madman and a suicide attempt changed a girl after all.

"Working overtime this week," Ginny answered sadly but proudly. "He wants to be able to take time off around my birthday."

"Oh, yes, I remember," Amelia smiled. "Susan mentioned you invited her."

She watched Ginny and Cedric interact with a soft smile. To be invited to meet his parents – especially in such a public location – hinted at a serious relationship or at least serious intents on Cedric's side. Ginny certainly realized this. Her family, while being a tad weird society-wise, was still pure-blood enough to teach her daughter these things. For a moment she wondered how things were at the Weasley home now with the new house and her parents separated. However, she didn't ask. This was hardly the time for such talk.

"So, Cedric," Brychan interrupted her train of thoughts. "What are your intentions concerning the lovely Miss Weasley?"

Cedric paled. His mother grinned and his father looked expectantly while Ginny blushed until her face was redder than her hair. _This was going to be interesting_.

.

_**Mrs. Parkinson**_

Just as the dessert was served, a new group of guests entered, a bunch of harpies under the leadership of the infamous Mrs. Parkinson. Immediately after noticing the group, Parkinson strutted towards an empty table not far away. Not very convincingly she made a show of noticing Amelia too late. Much "ah" and "oh" followed, kiss-kiss here and there with the Diggorys and comments – neither nice nor low in volume – about Amelia's braveness to openly lead around her little Italian lover.

"I couldn't do this," Mrs. Parkinson sighed to her band of sycophants. "My husband would never allow it. He expects me to be more… discrete." A round of silly giggles followed. It was well-known that Mrs. Parkinson had a whole row of lovers in the past. She certainly wasn't as discrete as she claimed to be. Only Mr. Parkinson didn't care. He was far too occupied with his own lovers, not all of them female as the rumours went. "And then there is Pansy naturally. I have to be a role model for her," she sighed, emphasizing the hardships she endured for her family.

"Luckily Pansy has her own thoughts," Ginny interjected angrily. "She at least has a brain and mind of her own."

"Silly girl," Mrs. Parkinson responded, making a derogative gesture.

"Brychan isn't my lover," Amelia responded calmly, before the conversation could escalate even more. "he is my partner… my mate." She grabbed his hand possessively and he responded with a proud smile. For a second he was grateful for Parkin-bitch's presence. She had been able to turn Amelia's insecurity into boiling fury.

"Oh," Mrs. Parkinson raised a single eyebrow, "how… peculiar." She shrugged and turned away. "Well," she smirked towards her bunch of harpies, "not everybody had the same standards in life."

.

_**Ginny Weasley**_

After that the mood went a bit down-hill. They took their coffee, mostly not to give Parkinson the satisfaction of having won, but they certainly didn't enjoy it. Parkinson and her bunch continued to speak ill about Amelia, not caring who listened – or perhaps caring too much. The other guests waited with spared breath an imminent explosion. And it came, only not from the person they expected.

While Amelia had to think about manners and appearance, and Brychan stopped himself from hexing that bitch because he didn't want to make Amelia appear weak, Ginny had neither of those restraints. She was sitting there, glaring at the Parkinson table and looking more jittery by the minute. More than once she grabbed her plate or cup strong enough to make Cedric fear she would break it. It was like she needed something to keep a tight hold on. In the end he released her. He put a hand on hers, rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb and said with a smile: "do it."

His action got the adults' attention and they listened closely to the interaction. It was like watching an old couple, with much going on without words.

"I don't want to…" _embarrass your parents_, her eyes said.

"You won't," he quenched her concerns, prompting her face to erupt into a broad smile. She pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek, making even Amelia smile.

Just then Mrs. Parkinson uttered another insult – stupid move, as Ginny's instant reaction proved. Amelia's eyes widened as Ginny left the table and walked over to the other table. The whole restaurant was following her every move. The maître d'hotel gulped. He didn't know this girl, but recognized a spitfire when he saw one. This one was the person the author had in mind when he wrote the dictionnary.

Seeing Ginny's sugary-sweet smile, Daphne would have dodged under a table and Hermione would have started to erect strong shields. Mrs. Parkinson had no such experience and had therefore no idea about the danger she was facing. After all, she was a full-grown woman and this was only a little girl, was she not? Her opinion changed when she found her own soup in her lap a second later. Luckily for her it was only lukewarm. Parkinson stared at the mess while the others watched wide-eyed. Amelia, who really hated until now that she was forced to behave and not retaliate in kind, smirked proudly and promised silently to get Ginny a gift afterwards.

Meanwhile the girl addressed the whole party. "You disgust me, the whole lot of you. Did you already forget what this woman did for you? She was the one leading the Aurors into Voldemort's lair." More than one bystander drew in a shocked breath at the mentioning of the name. "Oh spare me the fuss. He is dead. Voldy-Moldy is dead, gone, down under. And Mrs. Bones is mostly accountable for this. Without her we would be under Voldemort's thumb now, living in fear of being killed, or raped – or both." She sneered at the women staring at her. "You're only brave enough to insult her because you know she cannot cause a scene in here. If she wanted she could trounce your asses with her wand arm bound behind. But she is too polite to do that. I however am only a silly girl," she sneered in Parkinson's direction.

"Listen young lady…" One of them dared to interject.

"You shut up," Ginny roared and the lady was clever enough to listen. Ginny gestured towards Brychan. "This is Brychan Camwy. One of the teachers that trained Harry Potter to be able to win against Voldy. He has been there at the battle, never leaving Mrs. Bones' side, facing Death Eaters, Dementors and Vampires. And where were you on that day?" She addressed Mrs. Parkinson with a sneer. "Hiding in your house, I presume, hoping that nobody would remember which side you were on." While the Parkinsons never became Death Eaters themselves, there was no secret about their political standing.

"We have never supported him," Mrs. Parkinson responded, trying fruitlessly to gather some sort of dignity – something that was difficult with traces of the soup still on her dress.

"So," Ginny's rage turned into false sweetness again, "if someone examined your vaults and the gold flowing in and out, they wouldn't find traces of your gold going into Voldy's war chest, would they?"

Mrs. Parkinson blushed and looked around a little nervously. While everybody knew about such things, they were certainly not discussed openly. It wasn't appropriate.

"Cat got your tongue?" Ginny grinned. She pointed towards Amelia. "Mrs. Bones never kept quiet about her world view. She fought for what was right. And now she is doing the same with the man at her side. She's not hiding him like some little, dirty secret. You however… you know, I hate Bellatrix Lestrange, I really do, for everything she did. But at least she was proud and brave enough to scream her opinion into everybody's face. She is a bitch and certainly deserves to die – slowly and painfully. However, she is also loyal and brave.

"Whom have you ever been loyal or brave towards, Mrs. Parkinson?"

.

_**Longbottom Manor**_

.

"I need a drink," Augusta uttered, thick beads of sweat running down her face. She took a look around. The walls were blackened and showed more than enough that even the Calming Draught hadn't been sufficient to keep her calm.

After his ominous announcement, Filius had led her through her own manor and towards a place she had been using a lot these weeks: her training room. He had closed the door behind them, warded it and put some heavy silence and anti-spying charms around the room, before summoning a heavy, sturdy seat for her and ordering her to sit down.

Augusta certainly wasn't used to be ordered around like this, especially not in her own house, but she trusted Filius and his face… his expression had been horrible. Without a word he had pulled a second object from his pocket, this time a slender book. He flipped through the pages and offered it to her.

"Read this."

Augusta had instantly recognized the hand writing: it was Albus'. While following the pages' content, her heart turned graver with every sentence. Her face turned paler with every side and the sight concerned Filius more than a bit. As she reached the end at last, she sat very still for a long time. Filius simply watched her, waiting for her to recover from the shock. He had to wait for nearly half an hour.

When the explosion followed, he expected it. Within seconds the chair disintegrated by an immensely powerful Reducto and a dozen dummies followed, while the walls were burned and battered by Augusta's spells. Filius allowed her to let go, only taking care that she neither damaged her house too much, nor injured herself.

At last she sank to the ground, utterly exhausted.

"Is there any chance this isn't true?" Her voice was hoarse and nearly unintelligible.

"I'm sorry, Augusta. This is his writing. I fear it is true, there are too many details only a few people knew. I remember some of the conversations mentioned therein. I'm so sorry to bring these news, Augusta, but you needed to know before…" He hesitated but she understood.

"Does she know?"

Filius shook his head. "I didn't tell Minerva. I feared what it would do to her."

"This will crush her," Augusta whispered. "She loved her husband. She wanted this child so much, especially after Elphinstone's death." She started to tremble and Filius jumped at her side, embracing her. It was a funny sight to see the tiny half-goblin embrace the proud woman – or perhaps not. "Despite everything, Minerva is still not over her adoration of Albus – you know that." Filius nodded weakly. "She needs to think this – that she had been right to follow him, at least in the start."

"I know," Filius agreed. "I can't… I can't decide whether I should tell her or not. On the one side she deserves to know, she needs to know. But…"

"Yeah," Augusta nodded gravely. "But…" She rubbed her temples with her fingertips.

After a while she left her seat and announced. "I need a stiff drink now."

Filius completely agreed.

.

_**Ministry of Magic – Office of Amelia Bones**_

.

_**Amelia Bones**_

"I'm sorry," Amelia whispered.

"What do you have to apologize for?" Brychan asked slightly confused.

"I should have… done something." Amelia sighed, dissatisfied with her own behaviour. "I shouldn't have allowed her to behave like that, to speak ill about you."

Brychan shrugged. "You had to keep you cool." His face turned into a knowing smirk. "I know it itched you to hex her into next week."

"Oh yes," Amelia breathed. "You have no idea how much."

"Is it like this all the time?"

"Mostly, yes," Amelia sighed. "Not with the Diggorys or Arthur, not in the DMLE, but the rest…"

Brychan suddenly grinned: "perhaps we should hire Ginny as your personal BBE."

"BBE?"

"Best Behaviour Enforcer," Brychan explained.

"She would certainly like it," Amelia grinned.

"Have you already thought about a gift for her?" On Amelia's surprised look he shrugged: "don't tell me you didn't think about it. I saw that glint in your eye when she flipped Mrs. Parkinson's soup into her lap."

"I did," Amelia admitted. "I'll think about it." Turning more serious she continued: "and I will never again allow someone to speak about you like this."

"Alright," Brychan nodded. "But only if I'm allowed to defend you as well. I'm the man in this relationship, you know?"

"Are you certain about that?" Amelia stepped neared and purred, getting the physical reaction she had hoped for.

"I'll show you tonight," Bry liked Amelia's wildcat side far more than the controlled society lady.

"Promises, promises," she teased.

.

_**Richard Madsin**_

"Hello Harry," Amelia greeted the young man an hour later. "Sorry, for the inconvenience of this meeting, with such a short notice, but this is important."

"It's alright, Amelia," Harry responded. Nodding towards Brychan and the third person present he greeted them: "hi Bry, good afternoon Sir Richard."

"Hi Harry," Brychan smiled. "How's Daphne doing?"

"Still recovering. Mum is taking care of her. And I have strict orders not to overextend myself, so no hunting or training today."

"That's alright," Brychan bowed his head slightly. "Richard here, however, has something to tell you."

Harry frowned for a moment and turned towards the Vampire. He didn't know much about the man, only that he sometimes walked around like a Crusader of old times, that he belonged to Baron Pascal and was his trusted sword. Richard Madsin had been there at the first battle, his help in the fight invaluable. "This is about Madam Guille I assume."

Richard's eyes widened for only a split second. "It is," he admitted. "You certainly know that she is in hiding somewhere in Central Africa?"

"Amelia told me that part, yes," Harry nodded. He narrowed his eyes to remember what he heard about the matter. "The relations between those countries and Europe are somewhat tense. They don't allow our Aurors to enter the country and are unwilling to deliver Madam Guille and her followers – or even tell us where to find her."

"That's correct," Amelia interjected. "Or it has been so far."

"Something changed?" Harry asked, hope rising in his chest. He knew the wand-Horcrux was hidden somewhere there. It would be difficult enough to find it even without the local officials opposing them at every step.

"Someone changed – Hafsa."

"Hafsa?" Harry wondered. "Wasn't she one of Madam Guille's followers?"

"She was," Richard nodded. "However, Pascal convinced her to leave the war before the last battle started – luckily, as I wasn't all too eager to fight her."

"This bad?" Harry shuddered. He had seen Richard fight.

"Worse, far worse," Richard answered. "Take your worst nightmare of a silent night huntress, give it a body and you have Hafsa."

"Then I'm thankful she stayed neutral in the end. But what has she got to do with the good news? At least I hope you're bringing me good news."

Richard didn't answer to that but continued. "After the war, Pascal helped her to find a… a retirement place. In return he begged her to help us with our search. I don't know why exactly, but she agreed in the end."

"She went to Africa?"

"She did. She met the leader of the Vampire covens of Central Africa."

"The White Hag?" Brychan whisper-asked.

"The White Hag, yes."

"I always thought she only was…" Brychan hesitated.

"A story? A nightmare? A Bogeyman?"

"Something like that, yes," Brychan nodded.

"She is that and far more," Richard smiled without humour. "She's leading the covens with an iron fist. Pissing her off would be a really bad idea. It would make the war against Grindelwald appear like a Kindergarten brawl."

"I assume this Hafsa was more courteous than to do that," Harry said hopefully.

"Hafsa is everything but courteous," Richard cackled. "Luckily the White Hag has her very own sense of honour and humour. It certainly helped that Madam Guille and the lapdog she sent behaved far too cockily for their own good. Hafsa didn't tell us the details, only that there was some kind of trial by fire, a competition between her and Guille's ambassador."

"Hafsa won?"

"Hafsa won," Richard nodded happily. He put a piece of parchment on the table. Something was written there and a heavy seal proved that the White Hag herself was the sender.

"We're allowed to enter now," Bry read aloud. "Each group of Aurors has to be accompanied by one of Baron Pascal's Vampires and needs someone able to speak French to minimize problems with the locals."

"Baron Pascal is willing to send five of his men, each of them fluent in French naturally. Still, you could perhaps ask the French DMLE for assistance. Hafsa and myself will stay with the main team," Richard explained.

"I would really like to accompany you," Harry sighed unhappily. "Daphne and Hermione certainly as well."

"You can't," Amelia refused.

"I know," Harry shrugged. "Doesn't mean I like it to leave this to you."

"We're going to Africa," Brychan said, "and you and your friends take care of the one in Prague. You don't have to do everything on your own."

"Yes," Harry sighed. "I'm still not used to get support from adults. My first three years at Hogwarts and the time before…"

"Forget about that," Amelia growled. "Now you have us."

Richard Madsin reached out his hand into the middle and gestured the others to follow his lead.

"All for one and one for all," he shouted.

"All for one and one for all," the others followed, broad smiles on their faces.

.

_**Somewhere near Nottingham**_

.

Something startled her from her slumber. With a noise that would make a rhinoceros proud, 'Bella' opened her eyes and sat up. Like Henry she had a full grown headache and she needed a moment to remember where she was. A sound from the door prompted her to fetch her wand from the side board and whirl around, only to face Henry, wearing a tray and an amused smile.

"Hello beautiful," he greeted her and stepped nearer, not too fast not to startle her even more.

'Bella' smiled and took a look onto the tray. There was a mug of coffee, a small bowl with sugar and two slices of bread with the strawberry jam she loved so much.

"I thought you could use something to strengthen you up after last night," he winked seductively. Henry Broden was quite proud of his acting skills. Healer Smythers had patched him up – not without endless laughing fits and less than amusing jokes. Now he felt alright again, at least apart from the lump in his stomach when he thought about a repetition of last night.

_This is revenge for all the women I dumped_, he mused darkly. _Perhaps one of them was actually a witch, cursed me and now I have to pay_.

Suppressing a sigh he sat down on the edge of the bed, put three spoons of sugar into the cup – 'Bella' loved her coffee sweet enough to curl one's toe nails – and started to hand-feed her small bits of bread.

She apparently liked it.

_Can this day get any worse?_

.

_**A/N**_

_**If you want to read more about how Harry got the support of the African Vampires, take a look at the one-shot: "And the winner is".**_


	12. Chapter 12 A thousand rooms

_**A/N**_

_**Please notice that I replaced chapter 11. The old chapter is now posted as a one-shot under the old title ("And the winner is").**_

**.**

**A thousand rooms**

.

_**Longbottom Manor – 4**__**th**__** of August 1996**_

.

Frank Longbottom calmly watched his son pack his belongings. With Hermione's transfigurations and Daphne's long-lasting charms, the three-chamber-trunk was more than enough to comfortably fit everything Neville could ever need over the next weeks.

"You're certain I shouldn't accompany you?" Frank knew the answer already but he had to ask nonetheless. With Neville just having turned sixteen – and therefore being only a single short year shy of an adult in the magical world – it were moments like this where he missed those years of playing the overprotective father. "I want to help you. I want to be here for you." There it was in the open, his desire of feeling needed. Frank sighed. Neville was already so un-teenager-ish. He had been forced to grow up far too early, this was obvious.

Neville, while still a bit unused at this whole father-son-matter, actually understood his father quite well. It wasn't so different to him wanting to help Harry. "You'll help me the most by staying here, Dad." He smiled softly and after a moment of hesitation he walked over and hugged his father. He was nearly as tall as Frank now and, thanks to his training, his shoulders were already broader and his muscles far stronger. Frank felt a bit like being hugged by a bear. "I need you here with Grandma. An additional pair of eyes won't matter much with the search, but someone has to look after her. I trust you to take care of her. She's not sleeping enough these weeks and she could eat more. Perhaps a walk in the gardens from time to time…"

"You're sounding awfully like your mother and Hermione," Frank joked.

Neville simply nodded. "I'll take that as a compliment." He turned around, put some more books into his trunk and as an afterthought the dagger he got from Charlie Weasley a year ago. You never know…

"How long will you stay at Hogwarts?"

Neville shrugged. "I don't know." His face split into a grin. "As long as I need." His grin broadened when Frank rolled his eyes and muttered something sounding awful like "Hermione".

"I don't know how long we'll have to search for the Horcrux. Hogwarts is awfully big and difficult to navigate. Harry intends to spend the 11th with the Weasleys – Ginny's 15th birthday. And I'll be there on the 14th, I promise."

Frank's face turned sour and serious. He didn't like to think about the duel. His mother was in the right but her opponent was fearsome. Even with the trial of grievance acting as an equalizer of magical power, he didn't know for sure if it would be enough. Having just returned from his decade-long slumber, he hated the idea of losing his mother. Frank Longbottom was a law-abiding man. You could even call him God-fearing, despite him not being a Christ but believing in some universal laws that shouldn't be broken by any man. In a moment like this however, even he was tempted to solve the problem with a little help – in the form of a deadly poison. In his opinion Albus too-many-middle names Dumbledore didn't deserve such a trial. Instead he should be killed like a rabid dog.

"And after that? You're still planning to go to Prague?"

"Yeah," Neville nodded, turning to his trunk to hide his blush. He didn't know that his father noticed the red colour of his neck – and the reason of the blushing.

"Together with Hermione?" Frank only obeyed his natural duty as Neville's father: sometimes he had to pick and poke; embarrassing your own son could be a real fun sometimes.

The redness only intensified and Neville fooled around with the clothes in his trunk to avoid turning around. "All of us together, yes," he mumbled. It was already planned that they would go to Prague and help with the search for the second of the three missing Horcruxes. So far they intended to use a portkey to the embassy in Prague on the 15th of August. Harry and Daphne, Hermione and he would stay there, acting like tourists with the help of long-lasting Polyjuice. Neville sighed with a slight tremble. He would share a double-room with Hermione for a while. And he didn't need his father to tease him about it.

With a jolt he closed the trunk and turned around. "It's time to go."

.

_**Across the floor**_

Hermione was just as nervous as Neville. However she had other reasons to feel like this. While she thought about Prague and their plans to stay there from time to time – actually she had very concrete plans with Neville now being sixteen as well, plans that had something to do with her last little shopping trip – her mind was mostly stuck on something far different.

She was sitting on her bed right now, her trunk waiting beside the door. Unlike Neville she had started to pack two days ago and had been ready for some time. Only one object still needed to get into her well-used bag. It was a very unique figurine from a very special Arabian woman. While her decision to give it a try had already been made a week before, the doubts still hit her from time to time. Crooks was a clever, intuitive and all-around astonishing tomcat. But still – could he be trusted to make this decision if even she had no idea whether it would be the right thing to do?

She researched the matter – in depth and scrupulous. _Nothing surprising there_, Hermione smiled without humour. She knew her own quirks well enough. It wasn't like turning a Siam cat into a Persian, not even like a lion growing into a tiger. This would be far more. His magical core would change, as well as his intellect and senses. His life expectancy would significantly increase.

Hermione closed her eyes and admitted to herself: she had only one doubt and one fear, that Crooks would change too much and outgrow her, that he wouldn't be her familiar anymore. It was a selfish fear and she knew it, but she couldn't help it. She loved her Crooks and…

Hermione sniffed, her eyes still closed. Suddenly she felt something at her side, something fluffy. She opened her eyes and saw Crooks, sitting at her side and bopping his head into her. He sat up and stared her down. Hermione was certain that Crooks knew exactly what was bothering her. And obviously he didn't share her doubts and fears. His eyes told her: _silly girl, I'll never leave you_.

Crooks squeaked a bit as Hermione grabbed him and hugged him dearly, but he endured it.

_Tin-openers had a right to be weird sometimes._

.

_**Hogwarts Castle – History of Magic class room – still 4**__**th**__** of August**_

.

The seats in the classroom slowly filled will all kind of helpers who had promised to land a hand in the search. Each of them had, after entering the room, to subscribe a non-disclosure statement created by Hermione and Daphne. It wasn't really necessary with the nature of those persons present, but it would help them avoid involuntarily spilling out the secret.

Most of the teachers were already there, their help indispensable in Harry's eyes. Only Hagrid and Trelawney were missing – the former because of his size and tendency to speak without thinking, the later for other reasons. Minerva McGonagall looked up from her whispered conversation with Madam Sprout as loud voices announced the arrival of a few more guests. With a hint of panic her eyes searched for Harry and his friends.

"Please don't tell me…"

It was too late for complaining or hiding. Six redheads entered the room, the loudest first, and the calmer ones at the end. "Minnie!" Fred yelled – or was it George? Minerva wasn't certain. Unlike Daphne and Hermione she had never been able to detect the little differences. So she did the best she could at the moment: she glared at the boys and tried to bully them into silence. It didn't work, their grins only broadened. Successfully finishing their NETWs had done wonders to their self-confidence – not that they lacked in that department from the start. In the end it was Percy who came to her rescue. Smacking the twins' heads he growled "behave" and to Minerva's surprise they actually listened. Obviously something had seriously changed in the House of Weasley.

In the meantime, Ginny jumped Hermione and hugged Daphne afterwards, instantly starting to babble about her forthcoming birthday. Arthur had actually been quite happy to get his daughter out of the house for a few days to have some peace for the preparations. Charlie and Bill on the other hand followed their sister with a more serene peace and greeted Harry and Neville with manly slaps to their backs.

"It makes sense," Madam Sprout tried to sooth her old friend.

Minerva had to agree, irrespective how much toothache the twins' presence caused her. Nobody knew more about hidden corners and chambers at Hogwarts than those two miscreants – aside from another duo of miscreants, sitting at the back of the room, barely controlled by their better halves. Remus and Sirius were sitting there with Carmen and Tonks, waiting for Harry to open the meeting. They were eager to help and being two of the creators of the Marauders' map, they knew even more about the castle's secrets than the twins.

_Merlin help us_, Minerva sent a short prayer to haven. _We have to rely on four pranksters. They'll never let us forget it if one of them actually finds the Diadem_.

.

_**Hogwarts – Edge of the Forbidden Forest – 6**__**th**__** of August**_

.

"Don't stall anymore he said," Hermione growled and kicked away another innocent stone whose only fault was to lie in the wrong place at the wrong time. _Poor stone_, was the message in Crook's eyes. He was trotting a few steps behind his mistress, completely unimpressed by her little temper tantrum.

"I'm not procrastinating," Hermione claimed. '_Sure_' was Crook's obvious comment. Whoever stated that cats wouldn't understand irony, obviously never met a Kneazle.

Hermione looked up to the sky, where Mandragora was hovering. Neville' owl was keeping an eye on her, while her boyfriend carefully kept out of her sight. He wasn't a coward, oh no, only experienced and self-preserving. They had been at Hogwarts for two days. For two days he had been pestering her to go through with the ritual. This morning, after their common breakfast, he pushed her bag into her hand and muttered something like "go", gesturing towards the Forest, the place she had chosen days ago for the ritual. It was the same spot Daphne had used six months ago for her second familiar ritual.

She stopped at the edge of the forest and glanced down. Crooks seemed a little impatient now. Hermione knew how childish it was to be anxious about it. It wasn't like anything would happen to her. If someone should be afraid about the result of this ritual, it would be Crooks. And he appeared confident enough. Now he even started to butt her ankle and with a helpless sigh Hermione complied. Walking into the forest, she soon reached her destination. It was a little clearing with a small pond dominating it. It was easy to feel the spot where Balou had undergone the ritual. The magic was murmuring far stronger there even after all these months.

Hermione slowly walked towards the place and dropped her bag on the ground, staring at the grass and Crooks without actually seeing them. She neither noticed Mandragora fluttering onto a branch of a tall oak or Neville who edged through the forest and towards the clearing a few minutes later. He frowned as he noticed Hermione still standing there, as if day-dreaming. Here connection to Crooks had immensely increased somehow since her return from Sudan. Something happened to her over there that opened a new side in her heart. It was a side he liked very much, a more emotional side, more spontaneous and more prone to cuddling and kissing. It could be said it was a more cat-like side. However, it was the same side that now caused her to be afraid of the ritual. She feared to lose this connection, perhaps even to return to her former self. Hermione was a logical and mostly controlled person, but now she wanted to be more than that.

Muttering some assuring word to herself, Hermione knelt down and pulled some objects from her bag. Headmaster Flitwick explained the figurine to be enough to empower the intended ritual. The gathering of herbs, stones and nastier organic components was only to help Crooks and make the transformation smoother. Minerva had been present at their last conversation and added a few things to the list, her eyes glinting in a weird light.

Far too fast for Hermione's taste she was ready. Crooks had long taken his intended position, knowing without words or gestures where his place would be. With a weak smile Hermione pulled the last object from her bag, the figurine. She kept it in her hand while trying to calm her nerves. Suddenly she jumped forward and hugged Crooks for the second time today. Neville was nearly as teary-eyed as Hermione at the sight. Thankfully Mandragora wanted nothing of it. It let loose a nasty and permeating screech, instantly stopping all emotional fuss.

Hermione let go of her tomcat who surprisingly didn't complain. She angrily wiped her tears away and put the figurine down with a tad too much force. Neville knew the ritual to be very short. It was only a short phrase Hermione had to mutter a few times, written on the stomach of the figurine. It was written in ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs but somehow Hermione had known what they meant from the start.

Neville watched Hermione as she started to say the phrase with a loud and clear voice. He didn't understand a single word and later wouldn't be able to repeat any of them. However he clearly felt the magic and he heard the response. The mewling came from everywhere around the clearing. Aghast he looked around, only to see dozens of cats, fierce wildcats and Kneazles watching the show. Hagrid had told them about all the cats – mundane and magical – populating the forest. To see them however was something completely different.

Hermione however didn't seem to notice them or even care. Actually she didn't seem to really be here anymore. She was sitting across Crooks, swaying back and forth, repeating the phrase a few dozen times. The magical murmur grew louder and louder and Neville became slightly concerned. This was far more than the magic involved in Balou's ritual. Was this necessary? Was this intended? He nearly had an apoplexy when the first lion growl erupted from the forest. A dozen more answered. With wide eyes he stared around, waiting for something to appear. For a while nothing more happened. There was still the magic in the air, a lion's growl now and then and the wind – Neville had never been in Africa but he always imagined a sand storm to thunder and roar like this.

Suddenly something appeared between the cats at the edge of the forest. It looked like a lioness, but it was shining and Neville was able to see the trees behind the lioness' body. More of her sisters appeared and after a while eleven of them were forming a circle. _Eleven_, Neville mused. _With Crooks and Hermione they are thirteen again_.

His eyes were drawn to the middle of the clearing and he gasped. Both Crooks and Hermione were shining brightly as well now. He felt the magic pour from the ground and through Hermione's body towards Crooks. Wave after wave of magic streamed into the tiny tomcat's body and started … something. The choir of lions now growled without pause, battling the crescendo of the magical storm around them. Neville's hands clawed into the earth and around a tree root to prohibit him from rushing at Hermione's side. He really wanted to be there now, but his interference would surely prompt catastrophic results.

With a last thunderous clap both sandstorm and lions growling stopped. An extremely bright flash of light forced Neville to close his eyes. As he opened them again, he didn't see anything for a while. Only very slowly did his eyesight return and he was able to see what had happened. As he realized the result, he wished he wasn't in the know.

"Oh my," he mumbled. This was certainly unexpected.

.

_**Hogwarts – a wee bit later**_

.

Harry felt splendid. He couldn't help it, he simply did. Perhaps he should feel sadder, more disappointed or exhausted, after nearly three days of fruitless search, but he somehow knew that they would be successful in the end. And then there was the change he felt within himself, so different from anything he had ever felt. He was calmer and more excited at the same time. Harry didn't feel the same restlessness and temper as before the cleansing ritual. Everything seemed brighter, more hopeful and more vivid. It was incredible.

Spiritualist Nowles already announced her intention to perform a number of additional test after a few weeks to allow everything to settle in. She expected an increase in magical power, fine tuning and memory power. He already sensed something change and it seemed to intensify with every passing day.

Yes, Harry felt splendid. There was only one matter that troubled him in all his glory. And this "matter" was walking right beside him. Daphne had been unconscious after the cleansing for nearly thirty-six hours. Even now she was weak, short-winded and looking pale. Roxanne only allowed her to take part in the search because she knew there was no way to stop her. However, Daphne had to promise not to use magic for the next few days and to always stay near Harry. She certainly felt a little like a toddler right now, Harry assumed.

A low growl escaped Daphne as she caught Harry glancing in her direction again with those concerned puppy-eyes. "I don't feel like fainting any second, you know? I don't have a delicate constitution like you all are trying to imply."

Harry sent her a wry smile. "I would know about you being in a delicate condition, wouldn't I?"

His words made her blush deeply, and she covered up with punching his shoulder: "git, you know what I mean."

They continued to walk towards the fourth floor, with Daphne playing with the small replica in her elegant hands. Harry really liked to watch her hands; in a way they were even more sensual than her neck and her sport-honed legs. The replica was one of the Ravenclaw Diadem. With Nowles' help he had examined his memories of the "follow the Horcrux line"-experience. Doing that, he had been able to identify the Horcrux hidden in Hogwarts. It was the Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw, an artefact thought to be lost centuries ago.

Harry grinned as he remembered Luna Lovegood elbowing the tiny Headmaster into creating a dozen replicas. As the sole Ravenclaw among the searchers, she had been the one to remember the statue of the Grand Lady, standing in the Ravenclaw commons and wearing exactly this diadem. The picture of Luna grasping Millie Bulstrode's hand and pulling her towards the Ravenclaw tower to search it, however, still send shudders down his spine. They were a weird couple – if they were a couple. He wasn't certain about it, about their "status". Somehow however they just fit. He would watch them closely – and he knew Daphne and Hermione would too.

They had been searching the castle ever since. The four heads had mostly searched their own towers, each of them finding no hint about the Diadem but enough of other things hidden there to guarantee a number of interesting conversations with some of their students after the break.

"One question still disturbs me," Daphne mumbled after silently ascending the stairs for a while.

"Only question?" Harry teased.

Daphne raised a single eyebrow and smiled thinly as Harry stepped away and put a protecting hand on his shoulder. "How did he find it? And when was he able to hide it at Hogwarts?"

"Those are two questions," Harry drawled.

"Funny," Daphne grumbled.

Harry shrugged. "I don't think we'll ever know how he found it. However, we could ask Hagrid about those times Tom had been at Hogwarts after his NEWTs." In moments like this he felt the loss of Dumbledore's cooperation. The former Headmaster would certainly be of help right now. However, this didn't change anything.

"I'll ask Hagrid tonight."

.

_**Hogwarts – a wee bit later**_

.

"Mister Longbottom, was is the meaning of this?" Minerva McGonagall was one part angry and three parts annoyed as she stormed into the Hospital Wing, following the call of Neville's unusual Patronus. Both fake feelings did nothing to hide her concern. If Neville Longbottom demanded her immediate presence in the Hospital Wing, he certainly had good reasons. There were few students around Hogwarts less prone to exaggerations or senseless panic attacks, not since Neville found his "inner middle".

The sight of an all-orange full Kneazle stopped her dead-cold. Her face split into the broadest grin, a very uncommon and slightly frightening sight with the usually so self-controlled woman. "It worked. It really worked."

"Yes, it did," Neville agreed, not nearly as happy as she expected him to be. Minerva frowned and waited for an explanation. It came with Neville pulling the blanket aside. There was another cat, one Minerva had never seen before, neither at Hogwarts nor anywhere else. She looked similar to an Egyptian Mau, but not completely so. While the Egyptian Mau was more or less a normal housecat, this one had slightly longer legs. While her back, hind legs and tail was spotted like with a real Mau, her head and front legs were striped. She was bigger than a house cat as well, lighter build but with the size of a lynx. The most disturbing however was the strong aura of confusion Minerva was feeling.

"Whom does this cat belong to?"

Neville pondered about the question and answered somewhat uncertain. "You could say, she belongs to me – in a way at least."

"In a way?" Minerva wondered.

"Perhaps I should tell you her name."

Minerva nodded, despite having no idea what the cat's name could explain.

"Allow me to introduce to you … Hermione."

.

"Hermione isn't an Animagus," Harry grumbled, not for the first time. "She tested it, two years ago, with the rest of us. She can't learn the spell."

"Things change," Neville shrugged. He was sitting on the bed with Hermione on his lap. She was still very confused and a bit frightened, but slowly calmed down. Neville's presence certainly helped, as did Minerva's promise to find a solution to her little furry problem.

"And Nel said she can't learn the spell right now," Daphne corrected him. "Hermione told me that Nel saw a chance that her change of temper of the years would be enough to learn the spell at a later time, perhaps after our NEWTs."

Neville understood. "She wanted to ask you if it would be alright for her to learn it, for you to be left the only one among us without an Animagus form."

"Ten points to Hufflepuff," Daphne nodded with a grin. "You know her. She felt like betraying my… my sacrifice." Daphne still felt a slight pang in her heart when she thought about her decision not to learn the Animagus spell and instead concentrate on her abilities as a spirit healer. She still thought it to be worth it, now more than before the cleansing.

"Silly girl," Neville ruffled Hermione's fur, with Crooks closely watching him. He was the only one completely calm about the whole matter. Neither his own transformation – which increased his sized and a few details about his appearance but did nothing to change his ugliness and the squashed-looking mouth – nor Hermione's seemed to bother him.

"Thank God her boyfriend is nothing like that," Daphne responded with no small amount of irony. Neville blushed. He remembered quite well his offer to Hermione not to learn the Animagus spell, an offer made because of her assumed inability.

He sighed. "At least I can still feel her. It's feeling a little different than usual, but it's slowly normalizing."

Harry nodded. He was feeling the same. Their mindlink was attempting to adjust to Hermione's change, but he assumed it was mostly her confusion about the sudden transformation.

"Minerva will find something, Mione. We'll have you back in no time."

"I'm certain," Neville jauntily interjected "she's only annoyed because she can't read a book right now to bridge the time."

Hermione's claws instantly taught him the error of teasing his girlfriend – even if she was caught in the body of a cat.

.

_**Hogwarts – fifth floor – 8**__**th**__** of August**_

.

It had been a good idea, really. Neville wandered along the dark corridor, watching for sign of any hidden alcoves or other stashes to conceal the desired object. With the help of Hagrid and Professor McGonagall they had been able to pin down the day Tom Riddle had been at Hogwarts. More than thirty years ago he had been here, officially to offer his service as the next DADA teacher. With Albus Dumbledore already being Headmaster back then and more than a little suspicious of his former pupil, there had been no chance in hell to actually get the position, and Riddle must have realized that.

So why had he been here?

The answer… to hide the Diadem of Ravenclaw!

The next step had been to track the way he used back then. This, however, was far easily said than done. It was quite easy to identify the "usual" route taken from the entrance to the Headmaster's office. However, he could have used any corridor and taken more time than necessary. In the end it had been Luna Lovegood who suggested asking the paintings. She had worked persistently to identify those paintings that remembered to have seen him and to create a map of where the painting had been in those days. In the end they got a surprising result. Or perhaps it wasn't so surprising. Instead it was what they had expected the whole time.

Tom Riddle had entered the castle on that day only to take a meandering route through a bigger part of Hogwarts. He had been in the dungeons as well as some of the higher levels. He had entered a few classrooms and spent some time in parts of the corridors that weren't watched by paintings. Harry assumed that Riddle had been suspicious of the paintings and tried to hide his true destination. This, naturally, made it much harder to find.

"Meow!"

Crooks mewling stopped his day-dreaming. Neville looked up and saw the tomcat strutting towards the stairs, where a somewhat impatient looking Hermione was waiting for him. Until two days ago, Neville had no idea that a cat could actually look impatient. Hermione however, was fabulous at her cat-impression of "stern Minerva" or "you're a dunderhead Snape". With a smile and a warm feeling he hurried towards her.

"Coming!"

.

_**Same time – other part of the castle**_

While they ascended the stairs to the seventh floor, Harry following Daphne to catch her should she stumble – and to enjoy the sight, which was absolutely fabulous in his opinion, with no robe hiding the view of her jeans-clad derriere – the teenagers thought about Hermione again. So far neither Minerva, Remus nor even Sirius had been able to help their friend. She was still trapped in her cat form. They had only been able to ascertain that it was really an Animagus form and not some transformation spell like the "ferret spell" the false Moody had used on Draco Malfoy years ago.

So, why wasn't she able to transform back to her human self? She had been learning the spells and procedures together with Harry and Neville. God, she certainly knew the whole procedure better than anybody apart from Professor McGonagall – in theory at last. They had sent a message to Sudan, but so far got no response. For now they had to wait. In the meantime Hermione was accompanying Neville and helping with the search. She had been successful in finding quite a few hidden crannies so far, but none of them contained the Diadem.

Distracted by his thoughts about Hermione, Harry noticed too late that Daphne had stopped and was looking thoughtfully at the wall. He crashed into her and was barely able to prevent them from falling to the floor. Instead of scolding him as he had expected her to do, Daphne only continued to look thoughtful and asked.

"Were are we?"

"Hogwarts?" Harry tried to joke, earning him only a small glare. He looked around. "Seventh floor…" his eyes widened. "Near the Room of Requirement".

Daphne nodded. "Wouldn't that be a very useful place to hide something?"

Harry agreed. He stepped in front of Barnabas the Barmy. Harry had always loved the story about Barnabas trying to teach ballet to trolls of all beings. It must have been quite a sight. "Good afternoon, sir."

Barnabas frowned for a moment. He was used to having his calm and peace around here. "Good afternoon, Mister Potter," he responded nonetheless. "Have you been successful with your search?" All paintings knew about the search by now, not the nature of the object naturally but about the ongoing search itself. With more than twenty people running around it was hardly inconspicuous.

"Regretfully not," Harry sighed. "I have a small inquiry, sir, if you don't mind."

Barnabas simply nodded him to continue.

"Did you known Mister Tom Riddle by any chance… during his days at the school?"

"Yes," Barnabas happily replied. "He was a quite charming fellow, always polite, always a minute to spare for an old man. Not as rushed as they are nowadays."

Harry frowned for a moment. It was difficult to imagine the snake-man he met at the graveyard to have been charming at any age. But somehow he had been able to convince dozens of purebloods to follow his lead. There simply had to have been something about him in his youth, more than bloodthirstiness and angry words.

"Do you remember if he was ever here after leaving school?" Not all paintings remembered Riddle's visit. Some of them had been sleeping. And Harry hadn't seen Barnabas' name on the list of painting-testimonies – despite two other pictures on the seventh floor remembering him.

"He has never been on the seventh floor," Barnabas sadly replied.

The determined answer got Harry's attention. Barnabas didn't say "I don't remember" but appeared to be convinced about it. _He has never been here_.

"You mean, sir," Daphne interjected "that he has never been on the seventh floor after finishing his education?" _What was she getting at?_

Barnabas blinked. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and pondered the question. After a while he gave a weird answer: "no, I mean he has never been on the seventh floor altogether."

Harry and Daphne exchanged a thoughtful look, both having the same idea. "Have you ever been on another floor, Sir? Your painting I mean?"

"No," he shook his head. "I've always been here, always guarding… you know," he winked knowingly.

_Always guarding the RoR_, Harry realized. _Certainly he has been positioned here by one of the former Headmasters_.

He pulled Daphne aside, out of hearing range. "Is it possible to memory charm a painting?"

"Use a Confundus spell on him, you mean?"

Harry nodded.

"I assume so," Daphne responded hesitantly. "We should ask Mum… or Headmaster Flitwick."

"Alright," Harry mused loudly. "Let's assume for now that it is possible. Tom Riddle could only have one reason to hide his visit from Barnabas. He wanted to enter the RoR without anybody's knowledge."

"If the Diadem is in there," Daphne asked "how do we find it? The RoR is not a single room. It's more like…" She stopped. "Actually I have no idea what it is."

"Perhaps it's like one of those holodecks in Star Trek. A bare room and with the ability to simulate anything you wish."

"So, there would be an empty base room?" Daphne had been forced to watch a number of Star Trek – Next Generation episodes a few months ago. Because of this she at least had an idea of what Harry was speaking of. She nearly sniggered as she imagined explaining a holodeck to Headmaster Flitwick.

"It's possible at least. Who would know about such a thing? And how to enter it," Harry wondered.

Both had the same idea at the same moment: _House Elves_.

.

_**House-elf friends**_

"Dobby!"

"Ciddy!"

Seconds later both house-elves appeared out of thin air.

"Master has called?" Dobby asked hopefully. Ciddy said nothing but glared scathingly at her mistress for not taking better care of herself. It had nearly been more difficult to convince her than Roxanne into being allowed to take part in the search party. Without asking she pushed a mug of steaming hot herbal tea into Daphne's hands. The girl knew better than to object. She sat down – two chairs appearing right behind Harry and her – and enjoyed her tea, while leaving the conversation to Harry.

In the meantime Harry told both house-elves about his idea, trying to stay simple as he wasn't certain how much they would understand about magical theory – or holodecks.

"Do you know if there is anything like that," he asked. "like a 'basic room'?" To his surprise Dobby and Ciddy flinched and shared a look. They seemed to be a little afraid.

"This is really important, Ciddy." Daphne said with that voice she spared for her little sister when being afraid of a nightly storm. It was really soft, warm and caring, and it did the job. Ciddy calmed down again and whispered, more directed towards Dobby than Daphne: "I'll get the matron."

"Matron?" Harry wondered, only speaking to empty air as Ciddy had left without further explanation.

"Master wait," Dobby only answered. In his inner turbulence he automatically returned to his former 'house-elf speech'. And so waiting they did.

.

_**Matron Mathilda**_

"Why do you want to know?"

Harry found himself under the scrutinizing glare of the oldest house-elf he ever met. She had reappeared with Ciddy a few minutes later and her tiny face showed a mix of suspicion and cold fury. Harry had no idea what caused this. About one thing however he was certain: neither Professor McGonagall's nor Snape's glare could compare to this one. He had stared Voldemort down, but right now he felt like a seven year old caught by his stern grandma with marmalade around his mouth.

With more than a hint of trepidation he glanced towards the four house-elves accompanying her. They wore an arsenal of kitchen knives and frying pans. It should have been a funny sight, but it really wasn't.

"You are Matron Mathilda, aren't you?" Daphne asked, still using her soft voice. She appeared unafraid so far. Harry had never heard of a Matron among the house-elves nor the name Mathilda. On the other hand it made sense that there was some kind of leader among them. Certainly the Headmaster wouldn't be in charge of arranging the work.

"I am," the Matron looked in her direction, her face smoothing a few of the angry wrinkles after recognizing her. "You're the eldest daughter of Roxy, aren't you?" Daphne nodded with a small smile. Her mother hated that nickname. "She was a nice girl. Too bad she married that prick of your father." Harry grinned. He already liked her. "I dearly hope you're coming more after your mother."

"Everybody told me so, especially my grandma." Daphne's voice told Harry that those comparisons hadn't been uttered as praise all the time.

"Agatha," Mathilda nodded. "How is the young lady faring?"

Harry's grin broadened. Only someone like Griselda Marchbanks would call Agatha a 'young lady' – or Matron Mathilda apparently.

"She's doing well. She wanted to help with the search like the rest of us, but she is occupied – training Lady Longbottom for her duel." Apparently Daphne assumed that someone like Matron Mathilda knew about the duel like every wizard and with between eight and hundred and eight.

"The one with former Headmaster Dumbledore?" Mathilda actually asked, her voice betraying a big measure of disappointment.

"The very one," Daphne nodded.

"You don't seem to like him very much," Harry interjected.

Matron Mathilda rounded towards him and frowned. "I'm not allowed to speak ill of him." After a little pause she continued. "He didn't take care of Hogwarts as he could have."

"We agree," Daphne said with a small bow of her head.

"To return to the initial question," Matron Mathilda's voice turned icily again. "Why do you want to know?"

.

_**The room that doesn't exist**_

"We are searching for something," Daphne started slowly. "We know that it is hidden in Hogwarts somewhere. We know the day it has been hidden here and we just found out that the culprit has used a memory charm on the picture of Barnabas the Barmy to hide his presence. We think that he has hidden that object in the room of requirement and had the idea that there should exist something like a basic room, something…" She hesitated.

"An empty room," Harry offered, "a room being there when nobody utters a wish."

"Yeah," Daphne nodded, "as he said."

"And who was this culprit?" Matron Mathilda asked, her eyes telling Harry that she already had a guess. _What does she know about the matter?_

"Tom Riddle," Harry responded, "also known as…"

"Voldemort." If Matron Mathilda had been angry before and Harry feeling uncomfortable, there was pure hate in her voice now, enough hate to make him shiver. She got silent for long minutes afterwards, staring blankly, her mind somewhere far away apparently.

"Leave," the oldest of her four elf guards muttered and his three companions left with barely a second of hesitation. "You too," he growled towards Dobby and Ciddy. Dobby blinked and Ciddy started to complain but obeyed as she noticed Daphne shaking her head. Moments later there were only four persons left in the corridor. The sole elf guard summoned a little chair for his matron and stepped aside. Waving his little hands, he created a circular wall around them, closing off the rest of the corridor and preventing the paintings from listening into their conversation. Even Daphne was baffled by this demonstration of magic. This house-elf was really tuned into Hogwarts. Until now she would have bet that only the headmaster was able to accomplish something like this.

"He is my eldest son," Mathilda answered the unspoken question with a low voice. "He'll be the next patron house-elf after my death." Daphne nodded, accepting the answer. Harry promised himself to ask her later about it. Or perhaps Hermione knew about this. She had learned much since her days of thinking about S.P.E.W.

"Many years ago," she started with a hoarse voice, her eyes still far away, "there was another patron of the Hogwarts house-elves. William was tall, strong, and so brave. He was the strongest house-elf I ever met, and he knew magic only a few of us can muster."

"Was he your husband?" Daphne asked with a soft voice. Harry watched the exchange in silence. This was women talk.

"Yes," Mathilda nodded, her eyes teary. "He was my husband for many years, he brought joy to my life and we had many children, grand-children and great grand-children together."

For a moment Harry wondered about the life expectancy of house-elves and, not for the first time, Mathilda answered the unspoken question. "House-elves can easily life for about two hundred years, if they serve a strong family – or a magical castle. The Patron and Matron of Hogwarts live even longer. We had been married for 164 years when he died."

Harry was stunned. He couldn't even imagine such a time frame, especially not how it would be losing your partner after all this time.

"How did he die?" Daphne asked. She didn't want to pry but assumed his death to be the reason for Mathilda's angry behaviour.

"The house-elves of Hogwarts know much about the castle, many secrets, and many things nobody else knows. There are hidden rooms and secret ways, veiled doors and puzzles. The teachers know many of them as well, as do some students."

"Like the Marauders? And the Weasley twins?" Daphne offered.

Mathilda nodded, for the first time a fleeting smile on her face. "Sometimes a student stumbles over one of the major secrets." She glanced towards Harry.

"Like Harry did with the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Yes," Mathilda agreed. "It happens from time to time. Only the Headmaster knows all secrets of Hogwarts – or nearly most at least. It depends on his wisdom, his intellect and his wish to explore, how much he learns about the castle. And he has to gain the trust of the castle and the house-elves."

Harry narrowed his eyes. It sounded like the castle had a sentience of its own. And the matter of 'gaining the house-elves' trust' was interesting. "Did Headmaster Dumbledore gain your trust?"

"Mostly, yes," Mathilda admitted, "but not completely. He was too ingrained into politics, spent too much time away and had never the fate of the castle and its inhabitants firstly on his mind."

Harry nodded. He agreed with the assessment and understood. For someone like Mathilda there had to be a Headmaster who was first and last Headmaster, not somewhere on rank two or seven of his priority list.

"There had always been inquisitive students at Hogwarts, some more than others. Many tried to find the hidden rooms and corridors on their own or looked for older maps and books. Others tried to pry knowledge from the house-elves, trick them into parting with our secrets. While most did it with sweet words, little presents and dirty tricks, one had no patience for this alley. He wanted to know – now. He wanted to learn everything, even things we aren't allowed to teach anybody, even knowledge only a few of us know, as even among my kind there are some that know far more than the rest."

"Someone wanted to learn William's secrets? And he used violence?" Daphne asked with a shaky voice. Mathilda nodded weakly and gulped. Her face was a mix of hurt and rage, and Harry expected her to break down or have a temper tantrum any moment now. Daphne saw it as well. She moved forward, knelt down beside the Matron and hugged her. Mathilda allowed it and hugged her back. For a while she appeared not to be two hundred years old but a very sad child.

"He tricked William into meeting him. He convinced a younger house-elf – my grandson Matty – to call William to an outwards meeting. We found him three days later. William had been tortured. He was gravely injured. Even Madam Pomfrey wasn't able to heal him and we didn't know about the Greek Healers. A week later he died." Daphne sobbed and hugged her more. "A month later my grandson Matty committed suicide. He couldn't live with the guilt of having led his grandfather to his death." Another sob, this time shared by Daphne and Mathilda.

Angry with herself, Mathilda sat back, pushed Daphne gently away and straightened her back. Her eyes started to glare with fury. "It was Tom Riddle. He wanted to know Hogwarts' secrets and he killed my William to learn them."

"He will pay," Harry promised. "We already beat him, incarcerated him, and we're working on disposing of him forever."

"However," Daphne explained, "we have to know if the item we're looking for is in this basic room. It is one of three items we have to destroy before Riddle can die – permanently."

Harry wondered if it was a good idea to be so blunt with the question, but apparently Mathilda liked candour. To his surprise she immediately answered. "Something is in there, yes, resting on the ward stone, protected by magic. Some kind of…" She frowned, thinking about how to describe the item.

Daphne pulled the replica from her pocked. "Something like this?"

Mathilda suspiciously eyed the replica for a moment before she gravely nodded. "That it is."

_They found it._

.

_**A wee bit later**_

"I have to admit that I'm impressed." Headmaster Flitwick admitted with a shaky voice.

After her talk with Harry and Daphne, Matron Mathilda had agreed to teach Headmaster Flitwick how to enter the real room behind the room of requirement. "I trust him," she had explained very curtly. It was explanation enough really. Flitwick was not only able now to reach the room by himself but take others with him. Because of this they now stood in a big chamber, very empty and with only a massive boulder in the middle. Floor, walls and ceiling consisted of an unknown type of marble, dark blue-grey with silvery veins crisscrossing all over.

The boulder looked… magical. It was like four flames, one in the colour of each element, growing out of the ground, spiralling upwards and intertwining with each other. Four elements created something that fuelled the magic of this room. The whole chamber was brimming with elemental magic. On the top of the boulder rested a single object like a toy forgotten by a child.

"The Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw," someone whispered.

"And how do we get it?" Harry asked nobody in particular.

The question was reasonable. In imitation of the boulder, there was a cloud of energy shielding the diadem, four elements interwoven into a dangerous defence. Headmaster Flitwick had already tried to _accio _the diadem or to banish the shielding cloud. Both attempts resulted in dangerous backlashes.

"We could ask Albus," Filius Flitwick suggested with a face like chewing a lemon. He grimaced. "I feel his magic all over the place. At least the outer defences are his. There will be other defences under this elemental shield, I assume, defences created by Riddle."

Mathilda already had explained that Filius was the second headmaster to enter the chamber since Tom Riddle placed the object herein. Albus Dumbledore had been allowed to enter as well – without being trusted with the knowledge of how to enter on his own – to his endless frustration. Despite Mathilda's wish he didn't remove the object from this room that hadn't a place in here.

"So he knew," Harry fumed. "Another little secrets he didn't care to share."

"Apparently," Filius agreed. There was disappointment in his voice was no surprise.

"Since when did he know about this item?" Daphne asked Mathilda.

"I allowed him to enter after Riddle's return, at the end of your second year," Mathilda explained.

Harry turned a bit green, thinking about the day he had met Professor Quirrell, possessed by Voldemort's ghost; or the day he met him for the second time, a young Tom Riddle, in the chamber of secrets.

"He had known all the time," he whispered hoarsely.

"He certainly knew the Diadem for what it was," Daphne agreed, "especially after you brought him the destroyed diary and told him about Riddle's apparition."

"So," Headmaster Flitwick asked with no real enthusiasm. "Do we ask him?"

_He knew_, Harry mused, not really listening. Like Headmaster Flitwick he felt no surprise. _He knew. We could have saved us this whole search. The Horcrux could have been destroyed months if not years ago. Dumbdork is a real ass_.

"No," Neville answered instead, cold fury and determination in his voice. "We dismantle this on our own. I can feel the Earth magic. It isn't very strong."

Headmaster Flitwick raised a single eyebrow. He had another opinion on that one but he wasn't an earth mage.

"Dumbledore wasn't an elemental mage," Professor Snape interjected. He had been silent so far, watching the scenery with interest. "He only learned the basics as far as I know."

"He was good with water magic," Minerva objected.

Snape bowed his head in agreement. "He learned it from Grindelwald. Later he continued his water magic studies because of the black lake and its inhabitants – and to counter Voldemort's Fire Magic."

"We won't be so lucky as to watch the shield disintegrate after Lady Longbottom trounced his ass, I assume?" Harry asked hopefully.

"No," Filius Flitwick regretted. "The shield has been created by him, but it is fuelled by the warding stone. It will last as long as Hogwarts exists, if not cancelled by someone."

"Shit." Everybody agreed.

With a gentle move Neville swept Hermione-cat into his arms. "We need to work together then. We'll need you, Mione." The answering meow caused the adults around to grin broadly.

Harry nodded with a small frown on his forehead. "And we'll need Dumble's books about water magic." _Not only for this_, Harry mused, but also to prepare her for that Sudan stint later.

"I'll get them," Filius offered. "He won't need them anymore." His voice was grim and, not for the first time, Harry wondered what had changed to make the soft-spoken Headmaster this hateful towards his predecessor.

He wasn't the only one wondering this.

.

_**Somewhere in Southern Sudan at the same time**_

"Did it work?" Jerome asked, while sitting in their tent with his wife and pouring her a cup of mint tea.

Meryem put the letter down, accepted the cup with a graceful motion, and nodded slightly. "It worked exactly as expected."

"So her tomcat is a Kneazle now… and she is a cat?" Meryem nodded again, this time a playful smile on her lips. Her cat-side was still strong after all those years.

"And how long until she learns to change back?"

"As long as it takes," Meryem shrugged. "It's something she has to learn on her own. It was difficult enough to break through her logical barriers. I wasn't certain about that part, I admit, certain that she would succeed in getting her mind and heart in equilibrium."

"Her logic will fight against her in this," Jerome countered. "Confused as she will be, Hermione will certainly fall back to her proven side, to her knowledge and logical research."

Meryem grimaced. She knew her husband was right. It had been a snap decision to add the little extra to her figurine. She saw potential in the girl, potential to go beyond the constraints of her own mind. She certainly didn't want to hurt her. Jerome however spent more time with the girl than she. Perhaps she should trust him in this.

"I'll write her a letter." She complied with a little growl.

Jerome kissed her cheek. "I knew you would."

.

_**A/N**_

_Next time we'll continue with the Horcrux and cat-Hermione. _


	13. Chapter 13 The first step

_**A/N**_

"_{Text}" = Mindspeech as usual._

"_[Text]" = Arabian speech_

_ Daverox007: thanks for the "Hermicat" suggestion. I'll use that in this chapter._

.

**The first step**

.

_**Hogwarts – 9**__**th**__** of August – Room of Requirement**_

.

"You're certain you'll be able to get past this barrier?"

Filius directed the question at Neville because the young man was the most experienced with elemental magic amongst them. The theoretical knowledge of Hermione would have been greater – if only she had a way to part with it. She was still looking, but not exactly behaving, like a cat. Just now she was resting on Neville's arms folded across his chest. Where a normal cat – or a Kneazle like Crooks – would have dozed and purred, Hermione was listening and eagerly watching the events around her. Filius was certain that she didn't miss a single detail of the conversation.

"I'm certain," Neville nodded to Filius' relief. "The fire part is strong but Harry should be able to control it. Earth and Air are actually quite weak. Daphne will have no problems and I should even be able to lend magical power to Hermione. She'll be the only one struggling with her part. The water aspect it at least three times as strong as the fire aspect, the second strongest. In the meantime, I'll continue to learn the details of Dumble's water magic alongside Hermione to prepare her. I hope it will help her."

"Then we'll only have to find a way to get her back into her usual endless-blabbering self," Severus Snape snarked. "Or perhaps nod," he added with a smirk. "It's quite a delightful change to have her so silent. She isn't even able to wave her hand in this form."

Her cat-glare was apparently learned from Crooks. Her tail was twitching angrily and Neville hissed in pain as she extended her claws and pierced his robes. The reaction only made Snape happier.

Filius rolled his eyes. "Just admit that you miss her."

Snape looked shocked by the assumption and slightly appalled: "hardly."

.

_**A wee bit later**_

Hermione and Neville had left the room and only Filius Flitwick, Severus Snape and Ana Hernandez stayed behind. The moment the young couple left, the mood changed drastically. The three remaining wizards immediately started to use a broad number of spells to examine the defences around the desired object, the Diadem of Ravenclaw resting on the ward stone. However, this time they weren't interested in the elemental shield. While that defence was strong enough to keep most possible thieves away – even thieves that were able to enter the room in the first place – they knew enough about it and about the quartet's abilities to be quite certain that they could break the shield as soon as Hermione was back to her old self.

No, they were far more interested in the inner layer of defences, the one stemming from Voldemort himself. The magic waiting there for anyone stupid enough to try and lay his hands on the jewelled crown was far more sinister. While the shield was meant to keep people away, the inner magic had only one purpose: to kill in the most brutal and painful manner.

"I hate to admit but I have no idea what exact kind of magic or spell was used to create this," Filius sighed. "I feel the hateful intent and would guess it is some kind of death magic but I'm not able to assess any more details."

"It's Aramaean," Ana Hernandez added. She pointed towards some of the runes visible on the stone, written with some kind of magical chalk. "I'm able to read most of the signs but not all of them. I may be able to say more after I visit our library at Toledo. Do you think it will be possible to deactivate the spells without triggering them?" She asked Snape who was stoically listening so far.

"I don't think so," he dashed her hopes. "Irrespective of any further knowledge you gain at Toledo, the intention of this magic is clear: kill and maim, perhaps even attack the trespasser's soul in the process. I assume we will have to send someone in and trigger it, taking the brunt of the magic in the process."

"You mean we'll have to send someone forward to die?" Filius asked appalled.

"Yes," Snape answered nonchalantly. "Perhaps we'll find someone in Azkaban for the job. However, there is one little detail that could easily crush this little plan."

"And what could this be?" Filius asked, still disturbed at the idea of sending someone to his or her death, even a murderous Death-Eater.

"We'll have to wait for Miss Hernandez' return but as far as I'm able to see from here, it's not a single death rune waiting for us. There are five of them."

.

_**Hogwarts – Guest rooms**_

Neville startled as the cat in his lap hissed impatiently. For a moment he had forgotten it was her – Hermione – and not your regular run-of-the-mill cat. She had been sitting there, reading the books they got from Headmaster Flitwick with him. Only her cat-form did nothing to slow down her usual reading speed and more than once she had finished a page faster than him. It didn't help that he had to understand the content as well, or at least wanted to understand. It would certainly be helpful someday if he knew more about water magic, especially with water and earth being so combinable.

"Patience, kitten," he muttered, fondling her neck. Neville smirked as he realized that her instinctive purring reaction would annoy her easily as much as his silly nick name. "You know, I want to read this as well. It's interesting and I want to learn. Give me some slack."

It obviously was the right thing to say. Showing intellectual curiosity was certainly something she could connect to. For a while they continued to read together, Hermicat showing more patience than before. It helped that Neville continued to stroke her fur gently. The book was actually very interesting but quite difficult to understand for him. While Earth and Water Magic both belonged to the elemental quadriga, there were apparently strong differences in how they felt to the caster and how they obeyed his will. More than once Neville had to stop and read a part of the chapter a second time, sometimes unable to grasp it even then. He felt Hermicat's level of impatience rise again and wasn't too surprised that she was able to fully reconnect with his mind again.

"{No, you're getting it wrong all over,}" he suddenly heard her growling in his mind.

"{I can hear you again,}" he commented happily, not quite the reaction Hermione would otherwise have hoped for. However, after days of being cut off, of only being able to share her emotions with him, confused as they were, she was far too happy to be understood again.

"{You do,}" she asked shakily. "{You do!}" He could feel her smile. "{But why? Why now?}"

"{I have no idea,}" Neville shrugged. He assumed that it had something to do with Hermione being riled up and following her instinct to shout at him, but he wasn't too eager to tell her this. An angry Hermicat shouting at him wasn't all too welcoming. Hopefully, with the mental barrier once gone, she would be able to keep the mindlink open despite calming down.

"{Let's try something,}" he suddenly said. "{Close your eyes.}"

"{Why?}" She asked hesitatingly.

"{So that I can bind some rope and kettles to your tail,}" he teased her. This time he felt her rolling her eyes and a hint of a smile. "{Now close your eyes.}"

She did and he started to read from the book, silently this time, but passing what he read to her through their link. They had done something similar at the start of their mindlink training and it had been quite useful for learning basic Muggle sciences from Hermione and Harry. Now it turned out that it was quite effective for learning elemental magic as well. However, after a while they reversed their roles, Hermicat was reading and transferring while Neville was listening. With Hermione far better able to understand the text and passing the knowledge and what she thought of it, Neville grasped things faster. He actually got a feeling of how it would be to cast water magic.

"This way I'm really learning something about water magic," Neville told her after a while. "Perhaps we should share this with Harry and Daphne as well."

Hermione decided to think about it. Learning all four elements – or at least three of them as each of the four friends had some serious problems with their respective opposing element – was something that could be really helpful.

"{Read on.}" She ordered her boyfriend after a while and Neville happily complied.

.

_**Hogwarts – 10**__**th**__** of August**_

.

The bulk of the seekers had already left the castle again, both because their part was done and they didn't want to draw too much to the goings-on there. Only a dozen persons remained – and two and a half cats. Harry and his friends had issues not to grin too openly at the sight of Hermicat sitting alongside with Balou and Crooks on the table, each of them with their own little plate and all kind of fish and meat treats. _Hermicat is perhaps the only cat worldwide eager to round out her meal with some vegetables_, Neville mused while biting on his lips. The sudden hiss in his mind told him that it wasn't very clever to tease a cat-girl even in your own mind when the aforementioned person was able to read your mind and feel your emotions.

Harry and Daphne continued to discuss what to do with their day. They wanted to make some exercises with stronger fire magic: Brychan Camwy would conjure all kind and forms of fire while Harry tried to control it against Bry's will. Daphne decided to accompany them, partly to be there for the necessary healing – with both Bry and Harry using the volatile element to its fullest there were incidents waiting to happen – but partly as well to enhance her own knowledge and abilities. It vexed her that she wasn't nearly as close to Harry's fire magic as Neville and Hermione were to each other's powers. Her logical mind knew that it stemmed mostly from her deep emotional displeasure to cause pain and destruction, but her heart told her that she could do better. Now, with the hint from Neville and Hermione to share the feeling through the mindlink, she hoped that a day spent near Harry – he practising and she 'listening' – would enhance her access to fire as well.

.

Neville looked up as the flapping of owl wings permeated the air of the Great Hall. The usual delivery of letters and newspapers was there, but one owl especially drew quite a number of stares. No, it wasn't an owl. It was some kind of bird of prey, perhaps a falcon or hawk, Neville realized. It looked quite sturdy and had a wingspan of more than four feet. The wings dark brown with bands and spots, its head light brown and quite the contrast – the whole bird reminded Neville more of a very small eagle than a slender falcon as he landed in front of him.

"{It's a Saker falcon,}" Hermione explained, now feeling very agitated. "{I noticed them when I stayed in Sudan because they normally don't belong there. They're mostly found in…}" She suddenly interrupted herself. "{I'm babbling again, aren't I?}" Neville felt her blush under her thick fur. "{Yes, but it's cute.}"

"Perhaps you should open the letter, Nev," Harry nudged him now, pointing towards the bird with his fork. Meanwhile the bird had started to glare at Neville, obviously not happy to be here, waiting, among 'lesser' birds – not that Hedwig or Mandragora would share such an opinion. Neville dutifully removed the letter and offered the messenger a piece of beacon. This only prompted the falcon to intensify its glare. He gave Neville the cold shoulder – or cold wing in his case – and departed again without waiting for an answer.

"Apparently there is no answer expected," Harry grinned while following the beautiful bird with his eyes. _That could have been me_, he pondered. While he really loved his wyvern Animagus form, a falcon would have been more unobtrusive – even an African falcon species. Not that many others would have recognized that it wasn't your run-of-the-mill Peregrine Falcon. Most wizards or Muggles didn't care for such details. "What does the letter say?"

"Patience," Neville made a calming gesture.

"Patience is a virtue," Daphne agreed, causing Harry to roll his eyes and Hermione to prompt Neville to hurry on with a set of claws piercing his robe. Obviously her days as a cat hadn't improved Hermione's patience.

Neville just opened his mouth to say something funny – and probably incompatible with an unblemished skin – when music suddenly rang out. It stemmed to flow from the letter. The sound was some kind of pop song, something that could have been on the radio in the last decade. Harry actually had the feeling that he knew the song quite well, having heard it back at the Dursleys. Perhaps Petunia or Dudley would know. He would ask them tomorrow. The voice singing the lyrics however wasn't the original one, that was for sure. It was a deep and husky female singing voice, beautiful and full of deep emotions.

"I don't understand a single word." Neville's comment drew Harry's attention to the words of the song and Neville was right. He didn't have a single idea of the kind of language used. However, despite the song being clearly written for some shallow English text, those words, sung by that voice, were somehow very appropriate.

"It sounds like Egyptian," Daphne mused loudly.

"Egyptian?" Harry mused. "I thought they speak Arabian down there. Bill told me something like that."

"I mean old Egyptian," Daphne corrected patiently. Harry's response was a soft smile. He remembered the day an excited Daphne and an equally bright-eyed Hermione told their boyfriends about Professor Babbling and her exercise to "read" some Egyptian Hieroglyphs while listening to a spell that tried to pronounce them like the original scribe would have done two thousand years ago.

After a while, the song faded away, the parchment of the letter glowed shortly and the image of a woman with a lion's head started to speak while hovering over the table. To Neville's relief she was speaking Arabian, something at least Hermione would understand. Daphne started to cast a translation spell but Harry stopped her by gently taking her hand and shaking his head. This message was for Hermione only.

"[I greet you, Hermione. I hope to find you well. Please don't be mad at me. While I only told you that the figurine would be a chance for Crookshanks to change his life, there was also a hidden one for you as well. When you stayed at our camp I saw something in you – opportunities but limitations as well. You're limiting yourself, Hermione, and I wanted to help you to break through those boundaries. In a way I forced you into this, I have to admit. Now it is upon you to decide what to do with this chance. At the end of this letter you'll find a slightly modified spell for reversing an Animagus form. However, I have to warn you: using that spell would make it very difficult for you to learn the Animagus spell later on – even more difficult than it is now.

"[Hermione, I really hope that you'll decide to use this chance and find the solution on your own. It is very difficult and very easy at the same time. As Jerome expressed it: your greatest strength will battle you at every step. However, I have faith in you. You'll find your way. I'll expect to see you on your four legs when your little war is over. Fare well, Hermione.]"

For a moment Hermione fumed, both because there wasn't as much help in the letter as hoped and because of the 'little war' comment. Then however she remembered how old Meryem already was. _How many wars had she experienced in all those centuries, how much bloodshed?_ For someone like her this was actually a little and local war, nothing to lose her sleep about. _But why didn't the letter contain more help?_

Distracting her from her angry thoughts, Neville showed Hermione a few photographs that had been sent with the letter. A trio of kids was visible on them, a girl and two boys, as well as a duo of cats looking very similar to Hermicat. As Hermione stared at the photos and recognized the kids as Marwa and her brothers, Neville felt her calm down again. He had hoped for more from the letter, but perhaps they only had to find the hidden message. Certainly this Meryem wouldn't leave Hermione on her own, not after her figurine causing all this mess.

"{I have something to tell you,}" Hermione's voice suddenly reached out for her friend. "{And I have a decision to make.}"

.

_**Home of the Weasleys – 11**__**th**__** of August**_

.

_**Ginny**_

George Weasley was quietly sitting on a bench and watching the show around him. Alicia, leaning against his back, was chatting with Angelina and waiting for Fred to return with their plates. _He is behaving like a real gentleman today_, George grinned thinly, assuming that his brother had to make up for something – again. Angelina loved him dearly, but at least once a week she felt the urge to throttle him or at least throw something at his thick head.

George's smile widened as his eyes returned to his little baby sister. She was just greeting Susan Bones, her Aunt Amelia and Brychan Camwy, behaving like a little lady. He missed the Burrow, he really did. It had been his home for nearly his whole life. However, the new home was also growing on him. It was way bigger and certainly more traditionally built. It didn't need magic to last. One of the biggest surprises and one that conjured a big smile on his father's lips had been the electrical connection. While it still was a wizard's house, there was electricity and telephone in the house. There was even a little shed with a workbench and all kind of tools, electrical and otherwise. The most important detail of that shed however had been added by Harry: a little telly complete with video camera and a library of do-it-yourself tapes. Arthur loved it.

"Here is a little something for you," Amelia just announced. George could hear the mischief in her voice and eagerly watched her now. _They're looking like a real family_, he noticed. _Only a dunderhead would believe they aren't serious about this_. Brychan and Susan were still working on their father/daughter or uncle/niece relationship, but they were obviously improving. Susan had a fiery temper and a strong will, certainly not easy to address for a family newcomer. _As long as he makes Amelia happy, she'll behave_, he was certain.

Brychan put a small case on the present table, enlarged it with a flick of his wand and gestured for Ginny to open it. A little warily Ginny stepped forward, the fact that Susan was biting on her lip certainly not helping her confidence. Ginny opened the case and lifted the lid to have a look.

"It's meant as an addition to your dowry trunk. I hope you like it," Amelia drawled happily, completely ignoring Ginny's glare. The solution came a moment later, as a slender hand wriggled her way into the case and pulled something from it. It was a soup dish, complete with a red flower pattern and a golden rim.

"These are nice," Pansy smirked, "a little too Gryffindor but nice."

"I am a Gryffindor," Ginny growled and snapped the dish back.

Pansy simply shrugged: "nobody is perfect."

"Not even you?" Susan asked, knowing how confident the girl usually behaved.

"No," Pansy sighed. "I'm simply too…"

"Humble and modest," Daphne interrupted her. "We know, Pansy."

Pansy huffed but eagerly looked into the case again. "Look, there is even a soup tureen. I only have no idea why Madam Bones has chosen this present." She tried her best not to show her smirk but couldn't hide it completely. She more than anybody else knew about the little soup incident between Ginny and Pansy's mother. It had been a close call to convince her mother that it was in her best interest to allow Pansy a visit of Ginny's birthday party.

"_It's her fifteenth birthday, Mum. You know how important that day is for a witch. Everybody will be there: Draco, Daphne, the Diggorys, the Longbottoms and the Bones; Harry Potter naturally as well and many others. We can't be the only ones not present._

"_Mum, you can think what you want about Madam Bones' little affair. However, she is the Head of the DMLE, we can't upset her. And didn't you notice how close Ginny Weasley is to the Diggorys? There is talk about a betrothal on her party."_

The last part had been Pansy's own little addition but it had done the part of convincing her mother, if grumblingly. Cedric Diggory was at the party and his parents had been here shortly as well to wish Ginny well. No, there wouldn't be a betrothal – today at least. Her mother however didn't need to know this. Now Pansy was there, mixing with Claws, Puffy and Gryffs – and enjoying herself immensely. She only missed one person. "Have you seen Millie?"

"Last time she was over there…" Ginny nodded towards the garden shed. As Pansy started to walk over, Ginny stopped her. "Wait," Ginny smirked. "It's better, believe me." Pansy frowned but complied for now.

They had to wait for a while and greet a few other guests. Only then did the shed's door open and Millie came into sight, her cheeks glowing and her clothes looking a bit dishevelled. A moment later a dreamy but sappily happy looking Luna Lovegood followed her. She skipped at Millie's side and grabbed her hand, the big girl allowing it and smiling shyly.

Pansy's eyes widened. "When did that happen?" She had to suppress a gagging reflex as pictures of Millie snogging and groping the tiny girl invaded her mind. Millie was her friend, now even more than a year before, but there were things she didn't need to see.

Ginny shrugged again, leaning forward to whisper-hum into Pansy's ear: "love is in the air." Ginny glanced aside and Pansy followed her eyes. Cedric Diggory was standing over there, fruitlessly trying to behave nonchalantly. _Love is in the air, perhaps even more than I assumed_, Pansy thought with a smirk.

.

_**Harry**_

"Aunt Petunia?"

Petunia Evans turned around to find herself face-to-face not only with Harry but also his friends Neville and Daphne. The young Longbottom had a cute cat on his arms. _That has to be Hermione_, she mused. Emma Granger had told her about the incident but so far she hadn't seen the cat-girl herself. Honestly, she hadn't completely believed the story – until now.

"Hello Harry," Petunia greeted her nephew with a small smile. She still felt a little shy around so many wizards and witches – a few among them not having forgotten how she had treated Harry in his childhood. Dudley however was friends with Ginny and even more with the twins, and so they had been invited. She had allowed Dudley to choose the gift for the girl and Ginny had been ecstatic about the football cap with the Gryffindor logo on it. The wings at the sides of the cap that could be clapped by pulling a string, certainly added to the cuteness. The twins had immediately started to talk with him about the cap and were thinking about taking such an item onto their shop selling list.

"Something you need? Or did you only want to do your nephewly duties and greet your old aunt?" She asked him with a small smirk. Sometimes he wondered if his aunt spent too much time with Professor Snape.

"A little bit of both," he grinned back, reaching her the letter Hermione got the day before. After reading the letter the day before, the four friends had a long and serious talk about it. In the end they decided to give Hermione time until their planned departure to Prague to find the riddle's solution. However much Hermione loved the idea of learning the Animagus spell, the destruction of the Horcruxes was more important to her. It had been difficult enough to convince Hermione to wait even this long.

Petunia glanced at the letter. "This one is addressed to Hermione."

"It is," Harry agreed. "And it contains…" He hesitated, searching for words.

"A riddle," Neville prompted.

"Yes," Harry happily nodded, "it contains a riddle."

"What kind of riddle?"

"A musical one," Harry mused loudly. "I hoped you could help us. There is this song… in the letter I mean. I think I know it but I can't remember where from exactly."

"There is a song?" Nodding. "In this letter?" Another nod. Petunia raised a single eyebrow and she reminded him once again of the dungeon bat. Harry gestured for her to open the letter and with a little sigh Petunia obeyed. Seconds later the song again filled the air.

"There is really a song in the letter," Petunia blinked, earning her a 'said so' gesture from Harry. "You're right, I know this song." Her eyes became a bit dreamy, something Harry hadn't seen very often.

"Isn't that Roxette, Mum?" Dudley asked, a heavy loaded plate in his hands and happily munching some chocolate tart.

"Don't speak with a full mouth," Petunia scolded him absent-mindedly. Turning to Harry she nodded: "yes, that's a song from Roxette. I haven't heard it for a few years now but I liked the song very much back then."

"Liked," Dudley grinned, showing his chocolate teeth. Whispering a tad too loud he explained: "Mum always sang her songs but only when Dad wasn't around." His good mood vanished for a moment. Neither he nor Petunia liked to think about Vernon all too much. Harry however had a few difficulties to imagine his stern aunt singing pop songs while doing the housework. _Strange things happen on the countryside._

"So you know the lyrics to this song?" Harry asked to distract her.

Instead of an answer, Harry got the sight of his aunt closing her eyes and looking like she was listening to something. He waited quietly and after some time Petunia closed the letter only to open it again. As the song sounded for another time, it was accompanied by Petunia's voice. It needed only a couple of lines to tell him that they were closely related, at least in terms of ability to sing. While not as beautiful as Harry's, Petunia's voice was certainly not bad. Hastily he concentrated on the words and tried to guess why Meryem had chosen this of all songs for her message.

"_I know there's something in the wake of your smile.  
I get a notion from the look in your eyes, yea.  
You've built a love but that love falls apart.  
Your little piece of heaven turns too dark._

_"Listen to your heart when he's calling for you.  
Listen to your heart there's nothing else you can do. _

_I don't know where you're going and I don't know why,  
But listen to your heart before you tell him goodbye."Sometimes you wonder if this fight is worthwhile.  
The precious moments are all lost in the tide, yea.  
They're swept away and nothing is what is seems,  
The feeling of belonging to your dreams.  
_  
_"Listen to your heart when he's calling for you.  
Listen to your heart there's nothing else you can do."_

Petunia suddenly stopped and looked a tad sad. "Sorry, I can't remember the rest."

"Thank you, Auntie," Harry smiled. "You were a big help."

"It's a bit sappy, isn't it?" Neville asked, yelping as he got a punch from Daphne. "Why did you do that?"

"Because Hermione can't right now," Daphne deadpanned, "and because the song is sweet."

"It's sweet and sappy," Petunia said diplomatically. Neville and Daphne could live with that.

It only left the question: _why this song?_

.

_**Daphne**_

"Do you think Meryem has been singing the same text?"

"Why do you ask?" Harry wondered, looking up from the letter. He had been sitting there for some time, as if his glare could force the riddle to solve itself.

Daphne shrugged. "Hermione told me that Jerome taught Meryem English and French decades ago. She could have sung in English – or Arabian if she felt better with that language. Hermione at least would have understood the text. Either she changed the text or the Egyptian language has a special importance."

"Have you noticed how Crooks behaves every time we listen to the music?" Neville interjected.

Harry and Daphne shook their heads. They hadn't watched Crooks, being too concentrated on the song instead.

"He's listening attentively," Neville explained. "And he's… swinging."

"Swinging?"

"Yeah, you know," Neville started to sway to and fro like losing himself to the music, "swinging."

"Is that unusual?"

"I've never seen him behave like that." Neville answered with a shrug.

"We have to find someone to translate the letter. Perhaps Professor Babbling…" Harry started to run off but Daphne stopped him.

"After the party, not now."

"But…"

Daphne pointed to Hermione, sleeping in Neville's arms, the exhaustion from the stress being too much and his hand fondling her fur too relaxing to resist at last. "Later."

.

_**Hogwarts – 12**__**th**__** of August**_

.

The quartet was taking their breakfast in the Great Hall again and Harry was very happy that he had listened to Daphne. Otherwise he would have missed the highlight of the party – or better the high scream, as it had mostly been a screech of joy. Forgetting letter and song for a moment they had watched Ginny hug Cedric like trying to press his life out of his body.

.

"_She has a new ring," Daphne noticed immediately._

"_A betrothal?" Harry wondered._

"_Don't think so," Daphne shook her head. "Arthur would have announced it officially. And the Diggorys would be here."_

"_Perhaps a promise ring," Neville mused loudly._

"_Probably," Harry agreed. Watching the twins for a moment he wondered. "What do you think they are telling him?" _

_The twins had walked over and while Angelina and Alicia distracted Ginny, they had started to whisper very urgently with Cedric._

"_Decidedly 'The Talk'," Neville grinned. "You know: hurt our baby sister and we'll hurt you. Nobody will find your body."_

"_As if Ginny needed their protection," Daphne rolled her eyes._

"_Not from Cedric, that for sure," Harry admitted. "But it's still sweet and their brotherly duty. Admit it: you have given Draco the same talk about Astoria."_

_Daphne shrugged but didn't deny it. Naturally she had warned Draco to behave. Even Harry had endured 'The Talk', his coming from Astoria. Like Harry said: it was their sibling duty._

.

"Please have a seat, Professor," Harry invited her and Professor Babbling happily obliged. Bathsheda Babbling had been exalted when Harry told her about the song. Never before had she heard someone actually speak old Egyptian and Harry even hinted that this singer was a native speaker. Did an enclave of "left-overs" exist somewhere? A tribe of old Egyptians standing the test of time until today? It certainly had been something very interesting despite the shallowness of the text itself. She had worked through the night with the help of three pots of coffee and some pepper-up potions. Now she felt a tad hyperactive and had trouble to sit still.

"I have been able to translate the text from the song," she announced and offered a piece of parchment with the lines written on it. Harry pulled another parchment from his sleeve and started to compare them, with Neville and Daphne looking over his shoulders and Hermicat sitting in his lap.

"I don't see any differences," Daphne declared with a frown. She expected something different, some special hints for Hermione.

"Some words are a tad different," Bathsheda joined the discussion. "That had to be expected as often a one-on-one translation isn't possible. However I noticed only a small number of real differences as well. They are quite interesting. You said the singer is married woman? Married to a man?"

"Yes," Harry nodded. "Why do you ask?"

"Have a look." Bathsheda pointed towards a line. "_Listen to your heart when she's calling for you."_

"Isn't it the same?" Harry examined the original text.

"She's singing of another woman," Neville realized. "She sings: when SHE is calling, not when HE is calling."

"Exactly," Bathsheda nodded eagerly. "It's a consistent theme." She pointed to several other passages and really: Meryem was singing about another woman, a woman she didn't want to let go.

"You're right," Harry agreed. "But why did she do this? Neither she nor Hermione are a lesbian."

For some minutes all were rapt in thought, struggling to guess the reason behind the sole change of the song.

"Perhaps," Harry started hesitantly, "it's not 'another' woman she's singing about. Perhaps it's only another side of the woman."

"You mean she's singing about Hermione saying goodbye to Hermione?"

"At least to a part of her," Harry nodded. "Think about it. She said in her letter: 'I really hope that you'll decide to use the chance'. Taking the chance mean not using the spell."

"She said as well that 'your greatest strength will battle you at every step'," Neville mused loudly. "Many would think her greatest strength to be her logical, analytical mind." Neville had quite a different opinion about Hermione's greatest strength as did his friends, but most others would have shared the more obvious choice.

"When her logic is battling her in this," Daphne continued the line of thoughts, "then perhaps emotion is the key."

"In many cultures the female is connected to emotion while the male mind is thought to be the more rational one," Bathsheda interjected. "Not an opinion I share but perhaps another reason she used 'she' in the song."

"So the solution would be to allow her emotions to rule. Her mind is trying to find a different solution, a solution found in books and old knowledge."

"An external solution," Neville realized, "not one found in her heart." Thinking back about the start of their Animagus training he continued. "When we tested for our capabilities to become Animagi, Ana told Hermione that her mind was too rational and structured to actually execute the transformation. Only when Hermione changed over the past two years and converged with the character of her otter Patronus, did Ana see a chance for her to learn it – in a few years perhaps."

"But she's in her Animagus form already," Daphne wondered. "Wouldn't embracing her emotional side strengthen this, allow her cat-side to completely rule her?"

"Not necessarily," Harry shook his head, thinking about a good friend of his. "Think about Remus. He has to use Wolfsbane to keep the Werewolf under control. Even with the potion it is difficult for him and sometime the wolf breaks through, especially when he is angered or his pack is threatened."

There had been many talks with Remus and Sirius about their youth. Back then the Marauders had been his pack and later Lily too. Today he regarded the four friends, Sirius and Carmen, the Pinegrews and especially Tonks as his pack. He was always willing and eager to defend them and reacted badly to threats.

"For a few months he has been training with the Treskows now," he told his friends the news calmly. "They teach him how to reconcile man and wolf."

"You're right," Daphne nodded. "I noticed he's calmer now."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "His wolf isn't as suppressed as before. He allows him to be out of his mental cage and because of this his wolf isn't struggling with him as much as before."

"So this means," Neville concluded. "Hermione has to harmonize both sides: her mind and her heart."

"Easy," Daphne joked.

"Like Meryem said: easy and difficult at the same time," Harry sighed.

"How do we start?"

.

_**A Slytherin in the grass**_

.

_**A solution**_

Since they realized the nature of the second defence, the trio had been relentless in their search to find a way of breaking through the deadly magic. Ana Hernandez had returned right the next day with a couple of books. Only Filius and Severus were allowed to handle them and the Spanish Auror had hinted at the fact that the books weren't supposed to leave the Spanish counterpart of the British "Department of Mysteries", not to speak of leaving the land. The Spanish Unspeakables wouldn't be happy to learn that she had broken a dozen rules and laws to get the information into Severus' hands.

Regretfully she had been right: it was magic of the darkest kind. There seemed to be no way to disarm the spell trap aside from the creator doing it. And Voldy was neither at hand nor willing to cooperate. This left "triggering the trap" as the only solution. This was easier said than done. Only a creature with a soul was allowed to get the Diadem. This excluded the use of spells like Accio, magical or mechanical automatons and most animals. Only special ones like Kneazles had a soul as defined by the spell.

_Yeah, as if Miss Granger would allow such a thing to happen,_ Severus snickered_. I see it right there: I'll enter the room of requirements with a cage full of Kneazles meant to be sacrificed and the next moment I'll find myself obliviated and turned into a Kneazle myself_.

His former master and his ex-comrades would be fine with sending an imperioed Centaur in or some Werewolf pack. Imperious wasn't a problem as free will was no condition of the protecting spell. This had been the reason for him to think about using some Death Eaters as sacrificial lambs. Regretfully there weren't any death row inmates on hand right now. They could send word to their allies all over Europe and hope for the best but the chances were slim, especially as he had been dead right about another detail: there were five death runes all in all. So they needed five little lambs.

The best solution so far had been to reimport a couple of Acromantulas from Borneo. Since the colony had been repatriated to their home country, the Forbidden Forest had become much securer. However, it also stole them a possible solution to their little problem. None of them were really happy about this, as Acromantulas had a keen intellect far above that of even a shepherd dog – if allowed to grow up. Despite their ugly appearance and hunter mentality, it wouldn't be too different to killing Kneazles. Poisonous, vicious and pack-hunting Kneazles, Severus smirked, and especially ugly ones too. Regretfully it needed some preparations to get them back and Severus wasn't certain that the magic would really react to them.

So he had been working on another solution – a solution that needed the cooperation of the DMLE and the goblins.

.

_**A permission**_

"You want me to allow what?" Amelia Bones raged. Brychan Camwy was sitting in his usual place, watching the show with a hint of amusement – not too much, else he would draw Amelia's wrath as well.

Severus Snape rolled his eyes and silently counted to ten, allowing the infuriated woman some time to calm down again. Sitting at his side was a goblin, but not any goblin. _Sometimes it helps to be acquainted with the Boy-who-beat-the-shit-out-of-Voldy_. It needed only a little mentioning of his visit to Gringotts being in favour of Harry Potter to find himself in the office of Tremors, grandson of Lady Ironsides herself and chief curse-breaker at Gringotts. After a detailed explanation of his intention and his idea of how to accomplish it, Tremors had offered to take care of the Goblin part and accompany him to Amelia Bones. The grand lady of the DMLE would have to allow the whole matter else he would find himself in Azkaban in no time.

"You know as well as I that we need to destroy the Horcrux and soon. Potter and his band of miscreants should be able to destroy the elemental shield but that leaves the inner defences." Severus had actually been quite impressed as he listened Neville Longbottom of all persons speak about the elemental shield and how to neutralize it. He would need the help of the other three house heads to accomplish the same, and he wasn't even certain that it would be enough. Not that he would even tell the Longbottom Scion about him being impressed by his knowledge and talents.

"Aren't there any other ways to," she gestured wildly, "blow it up or something?"

"We could send in a handful of wizards, Aurors perhaps, optionally Skeeter and her colleagues or some Azkaban inmates." He rolled his eyes and ignored Amelia's glare or Brychan's silent chuckle. "Yes, there are other way," he admitted with a sigh. "This way however would be save, would actually accomplish the feat and it's not like we would lose anything or have to sacrifice a living person or creature. Or would you like to explain to Miss Granger that you preferred to sacrifice a few Kneazles or perhaps some House-elves?" He snickered.

Amelia looked defeated for a moment. While Hermione Granger had paddled back a bit with her "house-elves liberation front", Amelia knew her well enough that she would prefer Snape's solution. She would shudder at the thought like every normal witch but prefer it nonetheless.

"What do you need me to do?"

.

_**A pickup**_

"This is the entrance." Kreacher pointed towards the hole in the cliff, leading into the cave like a gaping hole or the open throat of a dead man.

"Are you certain you want to accompany us?"

If Kreacher was surprised by Severus' comforting gesture, he didn't show it openly. It was obvious however that he really didn't like to be here. Kreacher nodded after a moment of pondering the question. "Master wanted to destroy locket. If this helps destroy other bad thing, I'll help you." For a second Severus had the impression that Kreacher wanted to add something, but he stopped himself.

_Who would understand the mind of a house-elf?_ He wondered, _especially one like Kreacher_. The years without a master hadn't been good to him and he was still recovering. He was certainly no Paddoc. Now that was a house-elf to his liking.

Severus Snape and Kreacher entered the tunnel leading to the cave itself. Tremors and his crew followed them, carrying eight boxes with ease. Each of them was the size of a coffin and sturdily build, but enchanted with runes to reduce the weight. He needed only five of them. The other three were meant as a backup should the need arise. At the end of the little column a trio of especially heavily built goblins carried some weird backpacks with all kind of levers, gauges and tube around them. They had to keep their distance to the others and were the target of more than one suspicious look. _They will be useful_, Severus mused, admittedly not very happy about their presence, _perhaps even essential for our survival_.

"Let's go."

.

_Typical_, Severus sighed. _This is so typical for his superiority complex_.

Looking back he could still see the entrance where he had to make a blood sacrifice. The magic bound into that place didn't allow him to heal the deep cut. It did nothing however against Kreacher healing him. It was like house-elf magic was so below the Dark Lord that he couldn't even someone else making use of their abilities. A very dumb attitude in Severus' opinion.

Now they were standing at the edge of the dark pond covering the bigger part of the cave. In the middle of it was a small island with the hiding place of the faked locket. A little boat would allow him to cross the distance. It wasn't however the destination of this little endeavour.

"Prepare everything," Severus snarled and the goblins went to work. They knew what had to be done and distributed the boxes, opened them and lifted eight coffin-sized cages from them. The wire mesh was strong enough to keep a troll caged and dense enough to prohibit the "inhabitant" to attack someone out of the cage. For now they were empty but Severus intended to change that very soon.

"Stay over there, keep your wand ready but try not to disturb our work," Tremors grumpily ordered. Severus simply nodded and complied, knowing fairly well that these goblins knew what they were doing. His assistance wouldn't be helpful right now. He took his position and watched the goblins as the prepared their weapons, a hotchpotch of long sticks, man-catchers, lassos and nets. The trio of backpack-goblins took their positions at the flanks and rear of the others. It would be their duty to protect their brothers from being overrun.

"Everybody ready?" Tremors asked, playing with some grenade-like object in his hands. He got a number of nods in return. "Then let's play," he announced and tossed the grenade into the water.

All hell broke loose.

.

"Reducto!" Severus' spell tossed a trio of Inferi rushing towards one of the goblins back into the water and the arms of dozens of their brothers. The left backpack goblin shortly addressed the matter and engulfed the Inferi with a cloud of burning oil. The flame-thrower – a goblin invented weapon crossing their own brand of tech with rune magic and simulating quite well the weapons used in the Big War – was a fearsome weapon. Inferi knew neither pain nor fear but they could be destroyed. While half of the goblins were eagerly capturing a single Inferi here and there and dragging him bound and chained towards one of the cages, the rest was defending them.

Three cages were already filled, another two would be in a few moments. More than forty Inferi however were now smouldering cadavers on the ground. Slowly their waves ebbed down and it became easier to capture them. Only now did Severus notice that one person was missing: Kreacher was nowhere to be seen. Where was the little crazy house-elf? He looked around and saw movement on the isle in the middle. This little shadow could only be Kreacher. What was he doing over there? Suddenly it dawned on him. Severus realized what Kreacher's plan had been from the start. He snarled and looked around. The fight was ebbing away. The last cages were just getting filled and the Goblins destroyed the last strugglers. Amelia's team would be sent in later to clean the cave and make it safe to enter. After hearing about the cave she simply didn't want to endure the presence of such a danger to publicity, irrelevant of how low the chance was of some tourist stumbling over the entrance.

"Clean up and start to move the cages out of the cave," he commanded Tremors and his team. "I'll follow in a few minutes." The Goblin curtly nodded and started to bark orders. With military efficiency they finished their work. In no time he would have eight Inferi lambs for sacrifice. Now he had a different mess to untangle.

.

Severus left the boat with a little jump and walked towards the little house-elf. He could have used his flying abilities to get here without it, but he wanted to reserve this for emergencies. Kreacher was only taking notice of him as Severus stopped by his side and coughed slightly. Kreacher looked up from the body he was straddling, his big eyes filled with tears. The body was barely recognizable and the sight stopped every harsh word Severus wanted to utter. The condition was far better than expected after fifteen years in the water. Apparently the magic preserving the Inferi had done the same to Regulus Black.

At least he assumed that it was Regulus. The eyes were missing, the throat was ripped out and dozens of wounds covered the whole body. "This is your master?" He asked Kreacher, his voice surprisingly soft. Kreacher nodded, unable to say something.

"Do you want us to take him with us?" Kreacher nodded again, looking hopeful into Severus' eyes.

We should have done this months ago, Severus mused. They had known what had happened to Regulus Black since they found the real locket in Grimmault Place. Regulus had been his friend at one time. He had been Sirius' little brother, and while he still didn't like the mutt very much, he was willing to allow him to bury Regulus like the young man deserved. He had lived like a fool but still died a hero.

"Mobilicorpus!"

With slow steps the potion master and the grieving elf walked towards the little boat.

.

_**A/N**_

_The lyrics belong to the song "Listen to your heart" from Roxette (1989) and don't belong to me._

_Initially I intended to solve the Hermicat matter faster, but now I think I'll allow her to stay like this for a few days more. It would certainly change the intended vacation to Prague and the search there a bit._


	14. Chapter 14 Trial of Grievance - Part One

_**A/N**_

_I'll use a number of new Latin and Polish spells in this chapter. My Latin lessons are way back and I never had lessons in Polish, so this will be coming directly from a dictionary. _

**.**

**Trial of Grievance – Part One**

.

_**Longbottom Manor – 14**__**th**__** of August**_

.

_**Augusta**_

As if in slow motion Augusta struck a 6-inch-matchstick and used it to ignite the incense holder in the family shrine. She could have used magic to accomplish the same but it didn't seem right to do so, especially not today, on a day of such importance to her family. Today she would see that justice was given to her family. The wrongs of the past would be amended, and the culprit would be condemned.

"At the end of the day he will be dead, Argyle," Augusta whispered, feeling confident that his ghost was around, watching her, smiling tenderly.

Augusta sat down on the small bench in front of the shrine and allowed her eyes to examine its every detail. She had been sitting here quite often in the past, starting with the day her son and daughter-in-law had been delivered to St. Mungo's. After every visit, on each birth or names day and on many other days as well when grief struck her down, she had been here: praying, begging her ancestors to watch over them. Then the day came she learned the reason behind Neville's magical struggle. She met Hermione for the first time that very same day. She then learned two things, very different but both concerning Neville.

Neville deserved to be loved and cherished. Irrespective of his magical talent and power, his self-confidence or anything else for that matter. He was her grandson and a sweet boy, and he deserved to be loved. He was not to be belittled, thrown out of the window as an incentive for an accidental magic reaction to appear, and certainly not to be compared with his father every single day of his life. She had done him wrong in the past, and that day had been a rude awakening, with Hermione scolding her. Hermione, who did a much better job at loving Neville unconditionally… Like Alice before her, Hermione would be a fine addition to the House of Longbottom.

The second bit of information she learned that day was how Albus had messed with Neville's magic. For decades Albus had been her friend – or at least she thought he was. A friend, however, wouldn't have messed with the magical alignment of the Scion of her family. A friend wouldn't have caused aforementioned Scion to be nearly on par with a Squib for years, stunting his development and prompting his self-confidence to flounder. A friend wouldn't have done this, but Albus did exactly that.

Since that day she had a second reason to visit her family shrine: to urge her ancestors to help her in making Albus pay for everything he had done in the past. Her prayers had only risen in urgency and frequency after she learned about Albus' involvement in Frank's and Alice' worsening condition. She still couldn't believe he had placed that slip of paper into the hands of infamous Bellatrix LeStrange for this tragedy to happen. But while it was unfathomable, he admitted it under the pressure of the Congregation. And she had proof that he had been the one to interfere with their healing afterwards, for years. Albus had meddled with the treatment, slipped them potions to make their mental illness long-lasting, and obliviated and mind-charmed the healer to cover his tracks.

He would receive justice, in the biblical sense of the word: an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.

Augusta sighed. "But I don't know, Argyle, if I'll be the one…"

She drifted off in deep thoughts. It had been the most difficult conversation she ever had in all her life. Never before had she seen Minerva in such a state, not even after Elphinstone's death, or after she lost her girl. _Freya_, Augusta remembered. _She wanted to call her Freya Sophia after her grandmother and Elphinstone's late sister_. Augusta's chest shuddered as she took some deep breaths. _Freya Sophia McGonagall – she would have been the babe's godmother_. With Argyle dead, Minerva had asked Croaker to be godfather. With tears running down her cheeks Augusta snickered, remembering the look on the dour old git's face at the time. He had been shocked into silence, a very rare occurrence indeed. And then a smile had dawned on his face, an even rarer look to behold for him.

But nothing of this had happened in the end. Minerva had fallen down the stairs of Hogwarts and lost her baby. She needed months not to look like a zombie anymore, and years to have a spark in her eyes again. And all that time Albus had been around her, behaving like a good old friend, nursing her back to life.

_It had all been for show_, Augusta fumed. She didn't notice how magic rolled away from her in strong waves, making the whole manor tremble, and how her flaming eyes and upstanding hair gave her a mad, frightening look. _You'll pay for this as well, Albus. You'll go into your grave today, howling and screaming. And we all will join Harry in doing a jig on your grave_.

But who would be the one to do it? Minerva hadn't answered that question. For now she would go through with the trial. She was prepared, willing and eager, to battle the old coot.

And if Minerva stepped forward, she would allow her revenge. Minerva deserved it.

_What will your decision be, Minnie?_

.

_**Ministry of Magic – Level nine**_

.

_**Neville**_

The lift stopped its ascension with a musical "pling" and the door opened, allowing the passengers to enter the ninth level of the Ministry. The "Hall of Grievance" was part of level ten like the other courtrooms, situated in the eastern wing. However, you had to use the stairs to get there. The little group made their way under a veil of Aurors. The corridors were full of people, most of them staring and/or glaring in their direction. It was easy to tell which were Dumbledore's supporters, who wanted the former headmaster to die in a painful way, and the ones only here to watch the show of the century.

Frank Longbottom was walking at the front, ready to intercept anybody who able or at least willing to break through the line of Aurors. Handpicked by Amelia, the Aurors were under Kingsley's command. Frank didn't expect any trouble as he trusted completely the dark-skinned, bald man with the frightening smile. Augusta walked in the middle, with Agatha Pinegrew and Griselda Marchbanks on her flanks. Griselda's glare was enough to keep everybody at bay. She always had that ability to make you feel like a little boy whatever your real age was, and today she was making good use of it.

At the rear walked Alice Longbottom and her son Neville, Hermicat riding on his shoulders. Alice glanced towards her son from time to time. Something was troubling him but he had been unwilling to tell her the reason. At least it wasn't Hermione...

Neville closed his eyes for a second while walking with his family. Hermione's fluffy fur was pressed against his neck and he heard her soft, soothing purr. They had spent almost every waking hour of the last days together. Most of the time, Crookshanks had been there as well, and even Balou visited them once. Neville had mostly been in his bear Animagus form, communicating with Hermione through their mindlink. It had been a very weird feeling, he had to admit. After hours in his bear fur, using the bear's senses and feeling like a real bear would, he slowly started to loose himself to his animalistic side. He hoped that it had been helpful for Hermione as well. She knew and accepted that she had to harmonize her mind with her heart, her human and her animalistic side. This logical acceptance however did nothing to stop her subconscious fears.

Neville noticed the glances his mother shot him. She had no idea what he was thinking about. Months ago, when Hermione's cat-transformation hadn't been an issue, she had browsed the libraries of Hogwarts, the Ministry and a few others like the new-founded Lily-Evans-Library, to put her hands on every single book that at least marginally mentioned the Trial of Grievance. Neville would bet his own greenhouse that right now there was nobody around who knew more details about the trial, former duels and the magic of the chamber, than Hermione did.

Because of this he knew exactly what was his grandma was in for. Hermione had done the calculations, Arithmancy being heavily involved in the feat. Neville had only understood a tiny part of it, all the factors being part of the calculation, how much this or that decision and this or that accusation could change the whole thing. Hermione had certainly influenced his grandma in her decision on which charges to present to the trial. Now he could only hope they hadn't overlooked anything important.

Even with all of these preparations, Augusta had – following Hermione's calculation – only a 62% chance of winning. This left a 38% chance for her to die, a 38% chance that he would lose his stunning, majestic, and beloved Grandma Augusta.

And he knew about the part he might have to play today. His father wasn't ready for this and he wouldn't allow anybody else to barge in should the situation arise. No, should what he feared happen, he would be ready and do his part as well.

.

_**Albus**_

The same level, a different lift landed. Like Augusta Longbottom, Albus had a number of Aurors around him. Only these weren't meant to protect him from press and spectators but to keep him from running. After his last two stunts, everybody obviously expected him to try it again. Albus, however, had no such intention. It would be an act of cowardice. Nonetheless, he still felt bad about the duel.

On the one hand, Albus felt a bit guilty to have to kill an old friend and supporter. Despite everything, Augusta was an honourable woman and had always been a staunch fighter for the light. Without the snakes whispering lies into her ears, she would still be at his side battling darkness instead of raising her wand against him.

A little hint of fear was there as well, he had to admit. Like Hermione Granger, he had calculated the possible outcomes of the duel. Their diagrams even looked alike as he had guessed quite correctly which charges the Longbottom dowager would use against him, and how this would influence the magical balance of the trial. There however ended the similarities between the pair of calculation sheets. There were grave differences between Hermione's and his evaluation of the different factors. Especially in his assessment of his defence lines. Albus was certain that his speech for the defence, corroborated with explanations of how his deeds had furthered the Greater Good, would make a big difference and tip the scales in his favour. All in all he guessed to have a chance of more than 70% to win this fight. This still left nearly a 30% risk of losing, and with his streak of bad luck over the last eighteen months he couldn't completely disregard it.

As they approached the chamber of the trial, the number of people around them heavily increased. Someone had informed the press of the path they were using, and Albus found himself dazzled by a flurry of camera flashes. Half a dozen reporters went on and on with all kinds of invasive questions:

_Do you really expect to win this fight?_

_Will there even be a fight or do you intend to simply give up?_

_How can you live with your guilt?_

A few jinxes and rotten tomatoes were stopped by the shield the Aurors had wisely put around him. It wasn't the first time he experienced this kind of behaviour, but Albus was still shocked it happened to _him_. The snakes' influence was deep indeed if the public had already forgotten everything he had done in the past.

"Stay away," a deep voice from the man walking at his side growled. While Dedalus Diggle and Sturgis Prodmore, two of the few remaining members of the Order still loyal to him, kept their heads down and followed him like frightened children, Rufus Scrimgeour kept his head high and glared around, a sneer on his face and an expression that told everybody: you're far beneath me, scum.

Albus didn't deceive himself about the reasons behind the three men showing their support. Dedalus Diggle was the only mostly honest one. Everybody knew about his loyalty to the former headmaster. Add to this added his gratitude for not naming his part in the Valentine's Day disaster, and you can explain his continued support. Prodmore however only kept to him because he had lost everything else. Making a deal with the DMLE had only saved his neck so far, as he didn't get a sentence to Azkaban but a heavy fine. Additionally he lost his job and there were rumours about his wife filing for divorce. Now his only hope was Albus' freedom consequent to his victory today. After that he would – perhaps, hopefully? – be able to get him a new job. Without Dedalus lending him some money to pay for the fine, he would be in the debtor's prison already or at least lose everything he wasn't already carrying on his back.

The last of the trio, Rufus Scrimgeour, was in no way loyal to him or could be called a friend. He was only here out of political reasons. Albus knew that Rufus trusted him to win today, against all odds and the expectations of many others. He wanted to use the moment to state charges against Minister Fudge, who currently was a staunch supporter of Harry Potter and Augusta Longbottom in this legal and magical battle. Still, it was good to have him at his side. Perhaps it would convince a few others of the folly of their decisions. And he certainly was a splendid pit bull, snapping at everybody's calves should they get too close.

"Make way for Albus Dumbledore, the conqueror of Gellert Grindelwald."

Albus smiled, for the first time today. It was a bit much, but still nice to hear. His victory over Gellert was the one thing nobody could take away. And one day he would be known as Tom's conqueror as well.

_One day._

.

_**Ministry of Magic – Level ten**_

.

_**Harry**_

The chamber was really crowded. It was built like a Roman arena, circular with several rows of benches around, raised above the middle ground to allow the spectators an unobstructed look. There was a separated area for the judges and two entrances, the heavy portcullis only enhancing the bloody arena look. All places were already taken, aside from two benches for those close friends accompanying the duellists. A third entrance allowed healers or other people to enter the arena as well but was heavily guarded by a dozen French Aurors.

_French Aurors were chosen to ascertain their neutrality_, Brychan Camwy explained beforehand.

They were wearing heavy dragon hide and basilisk hide armours, looking quite impressive and not like someone you wanted to get on the bad side of.

"There's grandma," Daphne called out, pointing towards the bench reserved for Augusta's friends. Daphne had been waiting at Harry's side, clinging to his arm like as if needed him to stay upright. Harry was certain that he would have serious bruises later but he didn't complain. He felt like her for sure.

"Where's Neville?" Harry wondered. Agatha had taken a seat now with Griselda Marchbanks at her side as well as Frank and Alice Longbottom. Hermicat was riding on Agatha's shoulder, a very unusual sight in itself, but no sign of Neville.

"Perhaps he's been allowed to stay with his grandma," Daphne assumed with a hint of worry. After a moment she whispered: "I really hope everything goes well. It would really hurt him to lose her."

"Everything will be fine," Harry said, pressing her hand soothingly. "Everything will be fine."

.

_**Hermione**_

Hermicat was startled from her deep thoughts as fanfares started to blare. For a moment she was a little shocked at the kinds of medieval instruments playing. Then the seven judges entered their separate area, and took their seats. They were the same seven judges that had been at the court a few weeks ago, confirming Augusta's entitlement to get this trial. Minister Fudge was sitting next to them with his colleagues from France, Denmark and Spain as well as some observers from the ICW. With Albus a former political heavyweight on the international stage for so long, it was no wonder this duel drew so much interest all around.

Hermicat's little body started to shake a bit. She loved the old lady and didn't want to see her getting hurt or killed. Through her link she felt Neville's even deeper fears, adding to her own. Agatha, sensing her distress, raised her hand and started to stroke her fur. Instinctively Hermicat leant into her old, slightly gnarled hand. The past few days had improved the harmony between her human and her animal side, but she still wasn't there yet.

"Everything will be fine," Agatha whispered, not knowing that Harry was using the exact same words right to calm her granddaughter.

The chief judge raised his hammer and heavy thuds, amplified by magic clearly, permeated the wide chamber. Very slowly the hundreds of spectators calmed down. It still needed several minutes until it was silent enough to proceed.

"Today," the chief judge's grave voice announced, "we have come together to see justice done, for grave misdeeds being judged and punished. The Trial of Grievance goes back to the days of the four founders. Rarely used, it is still completely legal. A little warning before we start: none of you are allowed to interfere in any way. The duellists will be protected against noises from the ranks. Flashlights or any other visual distractions will be heavily fined. Even unsuccessful attempts to distract the contestants will be punished by a stay in Azkaban of between three and twelve months. Leave now if you have doubts about your ability to stay calm during this trial."

He waited for a moment but nobody left. However it got way calmer and Hermione noticed a number of journalists and spectators storing their magical cameras away.

"And now: let us begin."

.

_**Agatha**_

While Agatha did her best to quell Hermione's fears, she wasn't very calm herself. She believed in Augusta and in the rightness of her accusations. However, Albus Dumbledore wasn't a man to mess with, even today, with his mind being off the rockers. There were simply too many uncertainties, too many things that could influence the whole trial. One of them was the matter of the _second_.

"The challenger," the chief judge announced and one of the portcullises was lifted, allowing a stern and concentrated looking Augusta Longbottom to enter the arena. Neville was following her, pale but as determined looking as his grandma.

Each participant was allowed a second. He wouldn't be part of the actual duel – that was solved in a completely different and magical manner – but could still play an important part. Agatha had offered to be her second, earning her a growl. Yes, sweet, friendly Neville had actually growled at her. It had been that deep, frightening bear growl that fast convinced her that he would be the better choice in the matter.

"The challengee," announced the lifting of the second portcullis. Albus Dumbledore entered, as pompous as ever, bearing a red-gold robe and a carefully braided beard, his trusted wand in his hand, the one he got from Grindelwald himself, won in their famous duel fifty years ago. Surprisingly at his side walked none other than Rufus Scrimgeour. It was a political statement and Agatha didn't miss the wicked smile he sent towards Minister Fudge. They now had more than Augusta's fate in mind as they hoped Albus didn't win the trial today.

"Contestants, step forward."

.

_**Neville**_

It certainly felt weird to be down here. Several hundred pairs of eye were watching him closely. At least that's how it felt like. On the other hand it felt completely right to be here, at his grandma's side. She gave him strength and trusted him as well.

_She's waiting for something_, Neville noticed, _and it's not the trial alone_. He had however no idea what it could be. He was certain Hermione could have told him. She had been tight-lipped about the matter and begged him not to pry, but she knew something, something incredible serious. _But what?_

"Lady Augusta Longbottom," the chief judge raised his voice again. "Six months ago your grandson stood in your place and brought forward a number of serious charges against Albus Dumbledore, former Headmaster of Hogwarts and former Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. He did it in your name. The Wizengamot decided back then to allow you to be part of the trial after your recovery. Last month we, the judges of the Wizengamot, confirmed your claim and allowed this Trial of Grievance to happen.

"Did anything happen to change your mind?

"Are there ways to solve the dispute in a peaceful way?

"Would you be willing to accept any other kind of compensation from the challengee?"

Without hesitation Augusta balked: "three times no, your honour."

The chief judge allowed the chattering all around to calm down again.

"And are you willing and able to fight this duel today?"

"Yes, I am," Augusta nodded gravely. Neville had the feeling that for a moment his grandma wanted to glance somewhere. He followed her eyes. _Professor McGonagall?_ She was sitting there, between Headmaster Flitwick and Madam Sprout, incredible pale and looking like she would pass out any moment. _What…?_

"Albus Dumbledore, do you have any last words before we go further?"

_Any last words_, Neville nearly snickered in a fit of gallows humour. Albus threw himself into a pose and started to ramble. It was the same old story about the Greater Good, not that Neville actually listened. He was far too occupied with his thoughts about Minerva and what her part in this could be. He glanced towards Hermione and would have preferred, not for the first time, to see her human face. Perhaps it would have unveiled something. Her mind however was completely shut off from him for now.

"Lady Longbottom," the chief judge stopped the rambling after a while. "Did anything he said change your mind about the trial?"

"It did nothing of the sort," Augusta growled back. _Your hide belongs to me_, her look towards Albus Dumbledore said.

The chief judge sighed and nodded. He hadn't expected anything less. Even Mafalda Hopkirk, one of his associate judges and formerly an ally of Albus Dumbledore, saw no possible way to stop this matter. She had lost all trust in her former friend after hearing what he had done in the past to further his precious "Greater Good".

"I understand. In that case…"

"I challenge Lady Longbottom's right to start this Trial of Grievance."

Everybody was stunned by the interruption. Even Albus Dumbledore looked surprised and blinked in the culprit's direction. This had obviously not been arranged upon. _Or he's an even better actor than I thought_, Neville mused. Rufus Scrimgeour however looked around quite haughtily and smirked.

"On what basis do you challenge her right, Mister Scrimgeour?" The chief judge asked. He looked quite uncomfortable as he realized – like many others – that there wasn't much he could do to stop the man, irrespective of his reasons. In the end it was certainly only a calculated political move. If Scrimgeour was able to stop this duel from happening altogether, it would be a serious political blow to Augusta Longbottom, Harry Potter and the Minister. In a duel against Augusta, he would even have better chances than Albus because the essential trial rules didn't count. Augusta's magic wouldn't be boosted against him and with Rufus Scrimgeour being an experienced Auror – he didn't get his former post by incompetence – he had some chances to win or at least draw her out and exhaust her in case of Scrimgeour losing.

"Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot," Rufus drawled, ignoring the 'former' interjections, "did more for the magical community than any other living wizard. He should be praised for his deeds and not belittled for some little errors of the past."

"Little errors," Augusta hissed.

"In consideration of the big picture," Rufus drawled on, "those … incidents … were only small hiccups and…"

"I accept," his rambling was stopped coldly. "I accept your challenge in the name of House Longbottom, but please spare us this dribble, Scrimgeour. Simply draw your wand and keep your big nonsense-spouting gob shut." The last words were a deep growl from Neville and for a second Rufus wondered if this challenge had been a good idea.

"You don't have to do this," Augusta whispered.

"You know I have," Neville stopped her, showing her a soft smile. He glanced towards the stands. "I don't know what you have planned exactly and what Professor McGonagall has to do with this, but we have to go on. This is only… how did he call it… a hiccup."

Augusta stared at him, her thoughts racing. Allowing him to accept the challenge would put her duel at a risk. Instead she could address the chief judge and plead with him to rule this challenge to be unfounded. With the judges already allowing it to happen in the first place, she had good chances that they would turn Rufus' challenge down. However, Neville really deserved it. Hermione had been right about something: she had been dreadful to him in his childhood. His lack of self-confidence was partly her fault. Allowing this would be a sign of trust and proof that she really changed. She stepped forward and hugged him curtly, still unused to these public gestures of affection. She stepped back and nodded towards the chief judge, signalling him that she approved.

"Rufus Scrimgeour," the chief judge announced. "It is your right as Albus Dumbledore's second to challenge the rightfulness of this duel. Neville Longbottom, it is your right as Augusta Longbottom's second to accept the challenge. The challenge will start in three minutes. Albus Dumbledore, Augusta Longbottom, please step back to the edges of the arena so that additional shields can be erected."

For a moment Rufus Scrimgeour and Albus Dumbledore had a heated discussion. Albus didn't seem too happy about the development but both men seemed to trust Rufus to win the fight. In the end, Albus stepped back just like Augusta did, and additional walls were erected, protecting Albus and Augusta, as well as prohibiting any interference on their part.

The mob of spectators watched eagerly. Magic would fly, blood would be spilled. Irrespective of their political affiliation most actually wished for Neville to win, if only because they wanted to see the highlight of the day: Albus battling Augusta.

"Put him down, tiger," Harry whispered.

.

_**The Challenge**_

.

"This challenge is to the second blood," the chief judge explained with a harsh, no-nonsense voice. "It ends when one combatant surrenders or is unable to continue the fight. No lethal spells are allowed."

"Rufus Scrimgeour, are you ready?" The man nodded and grinned like a shark in Neville's direction.

"Neville Longbottom, are you ready?" Neville gave a curt nod, his face not betraying his nervousness.

"You may start when the light touches the earth," with a flick of his wand he created a bright ball of blue light in the air. It immediately started to descend, hundreds of eyes watching. Rufus continued to grin and narrowed his eyes; Neville let out a shuddering breath and gripped his wand closer, his senses reaching out to the ground below.

_Let's pound him into the floor._

.

_**Round One**_

*boom*

The ball of light touched the ground and exploded into hundreds of slivers with a loud booming sound. A split second later, Rufus Scrimgeour exploded into action as well.

"Lancea! Lancea! Reducto!"

Rufus shot off a triplet of spells, the last one targeted at the ground in front of Neville's feet. He certainly wasn't willing to confine his spell repertoire to stunning and disarming spells. He was out for blood. Neville however had no intention to make it this easy for him.

"That's one of your moves," Harry whispered and Daphne nodded with a small smile, not allowing her eyes to leave Neville for one moment. And really: Neville remained on defence for now, avoiding Rufus' spells through a number of very graceful looking dancing steps, prompting even his concerned mother to smile. Never before had Neville seen this opponent fight and so he tried to get a realistic impression of the former Auror's capabilities. It didn't look good. Rufus was a strong wizard, very fast and deadly accurate. He certainly knew far more spells than those he used so far. Neville would have to be careful, especially about curses towards his senses. In the meantime he started to draw magic from the ground around him and harmonized his aura with the arena. The longer the duel lasted, the better his chances were.

"Reducto!" Rufus followed up with a pair of cutting curses, forcing Neville to dodge again, only to use a nonverbal spell to turn the ground into something very slippery. Neville noticed it too late and tumbled to the ground.

"Regio Silentiae!" Immediately it got completely silent around Neville. _He created an area of silence around me_, he realized. With the mud slowing him down, he was barely able to avoid the next spells until his luck run out and he was – as he had feared – hit by a Conjunctivitis Spell.

_Protego duro!_ Hastily he created a shield to defend against the next attacks, thankful that Harry had trained with him to cast the spell nonverbally. Neville knew that it wasn't as strong as usual and would only last a couple of seconds against this onslaught but he didn't need any more time.

"What is he doing?" Daphne wondered. The answer came through her mindlink as Hermione explained. "{He's weaving an earth wave.}" Daphne's eyes widened as did many others all around the arena. Finishing his exotic spell dance, Neville made a pushing motion with both hands and a wall of earth, sand and mud, ten feet high and at least twenty feet broad, ascended from the ground and started to roll towards a slightly frightened Rufus Scrimgeour like a sea wave would. Rufus started to run, attempting to escape the earthen wave-wall, but it simply followed him as if it had a mind on its own. Luckily for him, it got slower with time, lost its momentum and height after a while and sunk back into the ground, but it certainly distracted him long enough. Rufus watched the last of the wave crumble to the ground again – without ever touching him – as Neville used the time to get away from the zone of silence and banished the blinding curse.

"That wasn't very nice," Neville grumbled, "time for payback."

.

_**Round Two**_

Only Hermione and her friends knew what the pale greyish shimmer on Neville's skin meant. He had a small buckler-like shield attached to his arm like Harry used often to parry some attacks, while trusting a thin layer of stone to dampen other hits. Apparently Neville was eager to go into the offensive, but again he used the tactic of a friend to do so.

"Ignis terrestris!" A line of pure fire raced towards Rufus. His opponent dodged to the side, not trusting his shield to stop this elemental attack. He wasn't fast enough and his robe caught fire.

"Aguamenti!" He hastily extinguished the fire, while rolling around on the ground to dodge the next attacks. Only now did he show how truly dangerous he was. Despite rolling around and having his robes doused with fire, he was able to get off a duo of spells, both nearly pin point in their accuracy.

"Miernik!" Neville didn't recognize the spell and it was too fast to deflect. Something raced towards him, formed like a dagger, and he barely started to move as it hit his shoulder and punched a hole right through.

"Szabla!" The pain of the first hit made his eyes water and he had no chance to dodge the second one. It hit the edge of his buckler and went straight into his thigh. Unbeknownst to him, Rufus had used two Polish spells he had learned from former Durmstrang absolvents in his time as an Auror. Both spells were dark grey and barely acceptable in such a duel – not that he'd care. Without the buckler and the earth skin spell dampening the second attack – a very powerful cutting curse similar to the Messorius – he would have lost his leg, without the chance of healing. Even so the cut went deep and scraped the bone. With a gurgle Neville went to the ground. He was losing blood, much and fast.

Daphne's hand cramped painfully around Harry's. Both wished to be near Hermione right now, feeling her distress. "{Calm down, Mione,}" Harry mind-whispered, sensing that she was nearly willing to risk Azkaban and interrupt the duel – not that she had many ways to do so as a cat. "{He's not out yet. He'll win.}" There was so much conviction in his words that Hermione actually calmed down a bit.

"Scutum Terrestris!" There was much pain in his voice as Neville erected a U-shaped shield around him. He had no time to use a rune to strengthen it like he had done at the big battle, but the spell was still strong enough to make the wall sturdy enough to stop a couple of spells.

"Caenos voco!" Harry grinned as he heard the spell. Neville had explained that Caenos meant something like mud larks; Caenos voco would mean something like "I call the mud larks". And really: some hip high, more or less humanoid looking creatures climbed out of the ground. They looked wet, combining earth and water magic, and shambled a bit like ducks towards Rufus. The former Auror apparently decided to ignore them for now, assuming them to be harmless, and started to move around to get a clear line of sight on Neville again. It wasn't his best decision so far, because the little mud larks lived up to their name and started to whack Rufus with blobs of mud, mostly to his chest but a few of them hitting his face as well.

As Neville had hoped, Rufus stopped and changed his mind, trying to destroy them first. Perhaps he assumed that he had enough time to do so and that the "little boy" was more or less out of the fight already. Each Reducto, weakly cast to preserve his energy, destroyed another mud lark and it was only a question of time until the former Auror was ready to continue the fight. Neville however used that time well. Even Harry and Daphne didn't know why Neville grabbed a bit of earth and used an Aguamenti to wet it, forming a lump of mud with his hands. Hermione had been experimenting with earth and water to create some battlefield healing charms – fast and dirty ones. Now he used the lump of mud like a bandage, putting it on the deep cut in his leg, following with a second "mud bandage" to his shoulder. When Rufus at last put the last mud lark down, Neville was ready for to fight again.

_It was time to end this._

.

_**Round Three**_

"Confringo!"

Neville barely escaped the blasting curse with a back flick he had learned from Daphne. Hermione only hoped that the rash movement wouldn't reopen the wound in his leg. He actually started to limp after that, and used a Protego spell to stop the following duo of Reductos. With every hit he was forced back another step and a second Confringo proved that this kind of protection wasn't especially useful against these attacks.

_Elemental variant,_ his mind raced. He thought about his training and what kind of element would be useful against Confringo and Reducto spells. _Kinetic energy, they're pure kinectic energy. Earth would stop them but crack under the pressure. Water should dampen and stop it_.

"Protego aquae!" Hermicat showed something that could only be a cat's grin, as the next shield created by Neville was ten feet in diameter, one foot thick and looked like floating water. Its usefulness was obvious, as it easily stopped the next spells without any signs of being in danger of getting destroyed or overtaxing Neville. It even looked funny as when a Confringo hit the wall, the explosion spraying water in all directions only to flow back into the shield within seconds. _We have to thank Bry later for his elemental shield training_, Hermione thought, feeling that her three friends had similar thoughts right now.

_Time for another offensive_, Neville smirked.

"Pluvia Ignis!"

It wasn't nearly as strong as if cast by Harry. Even Brychan's spell would have been noticeable stronger. Still: the rain of fire Neville created was impressive enough and made Rufus jump. He protected himself with a Protego, switching to a domelike shield seconds later. Both spells had their drawbacks. The Protego wasn't meant to protect against dangers from above, as it was mostly a vertical shield. And while the dome was able to divert those fiery missiles, it had difficulties to neutralize the elemental attack and it was fast taxing on Rufus' energies.

A second serious drawback of the dome became obvious only moments later: it was stationary. With Rufus unable to keep on with his full attack, Neville was free to keep the fire rain going and even mix a few earth fist spells into the mix.

"Pugnus saxeus!"

The first fist caused the dome to sound like a bell. The second fist made dozens of tiny cracks appear in the shield. Rufus, noticing this, tried to strengthen the protection. The third however ignored his puny attempt and completely shattered the dome. Rufus started to run around in a funny haste, trying to dodge the next fiery missiles only to have a fourth fist spell glance at his feet. Ungracefully he slammed into the ground. Again he reacted like a trained Auror and duellist. A hastily erected shield protected him against the next couple of spells from Neville; an Aguamenti made him look like a drowned rat but protected him somewhat at least against the fire. He used the won time well, firing a couple of dark spells against Neville, reaching deeply into his bag of magical tricks.

Neville actually had to stop his rain of fire to concentrate onto his shield. Using his deep understanding of both water and earth magic, he created a trio of little stone slaps that flowed around in the bigger water wall. While the water was well suited to stop blasting, blowing and cutting curses, others piercing spells like Lanceas were more easily stopped by massive objects. It certainly was an impressive view. _Too bad neither Daphne nor I can learn this_, Harry mused. Daphne was very bad with Earth spells, and he was even worse with Water magic. _We'll have to find something else on our own._

"Swiatlo!"

Neville noticed the danger a second too late. After a dozen of heavy hitters against his shield he simply hadn't expected a spell to deliberately miss. It sizzled through the air above and caused a massive explosion of light, immediately blinding him for good. Instead of futile attempts to get his eyesight back, Neville immediately started to concentrate on his other senses, especially his ability to feel his surroundings via the earth.

_He's over there, trying to get into my back_, Neville thought, his blinded eyes narrowed in concentration. _He's trying to be stealthy_. Not that it was of any importance to him.

Rufus Scrimgeour however wasn't the only one with knowledge of foreign spells. Since Neville learned about Earth Magic for the first time, he had been eager to learn more about it. He had presented an interest in learning only shown by Hermione and Daphne so far; he even went as far as drilling other races about it. Hermione had started to do the same with the mermen and he had been lucky with the Goblins. Any other wizard would have been unsuccessful with such an inquiry, insulting the Goblins with daring to even ask them. Neville however had Harry on his side. Ironsides had been willing to teach him a thing or two after long and serious talks.

And now Neville was ready to make history. Duels in this chamber were rare enough already. Never before, however, had Goblin spell been used.

"Gund U Bot!"

Only a handful of attendees even realized that he spoke Gobblededook. Those few taxed their brains to translate it. Even fewer were able to do that before the result became obvious. Starting in the middle of the chamber, rolling towards the edges like a ripple in the water, the earthen ground turned into some oily morass. Spoken by Ironsides, this spell alone would have been life-threatening. Neville however was only interested in covering the floor of the whole chamber and stopping Rufus from running around. Within seconds both contestants started to sink into the ground. Neville, kneeling on the ground, his open palms on the earth for connection, was halfway hidden now. Rufus, now more interested in doing something against this weird danger than to continue his attacks, sank into the morass up to his knees. Running around certainly wasn't an option anymore.

"Miernik!

"Szabla!

"Confringo! Confringo!

Rufus' casting became more and more urgent, and there was a hint of panic in his voice. None of his spells were able to break the wall of earth and mud that was rising from the ground, replacing the water shield. It was as if Neville was hiding behind a small hill, laughing about any attempt to break through or banish it.

"Repulso!"

Unable to cast a spell similar to Neville's rain fire, Rufus resorted to banishing lumps of mud over the hill, attempting to hit his nasty opponent with self-created catapult missiles. His aim wasn't too bad but it was difficult to hit a target you didn't see. Neville ignored it for now, even when Rufus started to transform his missiles into something harder to make them more dangerous.

"It looks like he's praying," Daphne whispered. And really: Neville was certainly not doing any normal kind of spell casting. Legs mostly sunk into the ground, hands and forearms not doing much better, he was kneeling there mumbling something. A rumbling sound permeated the whole chamber, like stones grinding against each other moments before a cave-in.

Rufus' casting became even more urgent and one of his missiles hit Neville. Something like a sharpened piece of wood pierced his side. It wasn't enough to stop him and luckily Rufus had no idea that he had hit him. The next number of missiles went far off again. And now the idea of Neville's chant became obvious: mud was gathering in front of him, the hill rising more and more. It was already fifteen feet high at least and still growing. The mud to his sides and back flowed towards the growing hill, until it towered far above both contestants. Rufus Scrimgeour's eyes widened and he attempted to run away. There was however still enough mud around to make such an attempt silly. He simply was too slow.

And then the mud hill started to move.

.

_**Augusta**_

The applause slowly subsided. Neville accepted it quite gracefully, Augusta admitted. She had been relieved when Rufus Scrimgeour surrendered. Not that he had many choices left, with a solid wall of mud circling him against the arena wall, looming above his head and eager to drown him. Neville smiled proudly and exchanged a curt bow with his grandma. _He's really grown up_, Augusta mused. Frank will be proud of him and Alice is certainly trying to calm down again.

There had been a few errors on Neville's side, mostly due to his youth and lack of experience with foreign spells. His strongest magic was neither flashy nor fast – something that would put him at a serious disadvantage against a fighter like Harry who was more of a flash striker. However, the sheer amount of magic he had used was truly staggering. Funnily enough, Albus Dumbledore thought just the same. He had, however, a very unique conclusion.

_It was good that I messed with his magic back then_, he mused. _The misalignment of his magic forced him to use the available rest as best as possible. Now, with his whole magic at the tips of his fingers, he's far stronger than he otherwise would have been. In the end I helped him grow stronger. Surely he will realize it one day_.

Rufus had already left the arena and Neville followed him after a last hug. A dozen Unspeakables had used that time to return the arena to its normal condition and now started to scatter all kind of objects all around, mostly simple stones and logs but a number of statues as well. They were meant as auxiliaries in the duel, both contestants being especially strong in Transfiguration. The audience, while impressed by the first fight, expected something very different from the second one. In a Rock Concert Neville against Rufus would have been the opening act and certainly more than able to raise the expectations and mood. Now it was time for the main course.

.

Augusta only listened to the chief judge with half an ear as he explained the rules of the trial. She already knew them by heart and had no use of a repetition. In the end it was quite simply: apart from the Unforgivables everything was allowed. They were out for the kill so even the spells that had been forbidden in the challenge beforehand were allowed now. No, her mind was occupied with a different matter altogether, a matter that had to be decided right now, that couldn't wait any longer.

"Your honour…" Augusta's voice wasn't very loud and a tad hesitating. As he didn't react but continued to ramble on, Augusta harrumphed and raised her voice: "Your honour?"

"Yes, Lady Longbottom?" The chief judge addressed her with a slight frown. He obviously didn't like to get interrupted.

"Before we continue," she glanced towards Minerva who looked even paler now and slightly shook her head. "We have another matter to address."

"And what would that be?" He asked, having no idea what she could be talking about. The challenge uttered had been the last obstacle. With both contestants ready to fight, they could start the real duel of the day.

"Is there anybody out there," Augusta addressed the audience, "under the impression that their right to fight this man is greater than mine?" Slowly she turned around until her eyes rested on Minerva who looked like crying. "Is there anybody among you who is willing or demanding to fight in my stead?"

"Lady Longbottom," the chief judge interjected. "This is quite unusual."

"Is it not part of the Trial of Grievance to pose this question?" It certainly was and Augusta knew it. Alike at a marriage ceremony, this question had to be posed. It simply wasn't expected that anybody would dare to object to Augusta Longbottom's right to fight Albus Dumbledore. Not now, after months of preliminaries.

"It is your decision to ask this question," the chief judge admitted. "It is tradition but not a requirement. However, you know that you would lose your own right to fight him should anybody else step in? Even if this someone loses the fight, you omit your own right forever."

"I know, I understand and I accept this," Augusta nodded slowly.

"In this case," the chief judge sighed, "let me repeat Lady Longbottom's question: is there anybody among us who objects her right to fight this duel?"

Augusta's eyes were still resting on Minerva, trying to force her through sheer willpower to step in. She didn't know herself when and how she had decided that this was the right way, but in this moment she was convinced that it should be Minerva's fight, not hers. She had Frank back, Alice and Neville. Seeing Albus suffer, dishing out justice and seeking revenge would be sweet, but she would gain nothing from it. Minerva however would never win back the husband and daughter she lost. Fighting Albus, irrespective of losing or winning, would perhaps allow her to put this behind her.

With slightly shaky legs Minerva at last obeyed Augusta's wish and stood up. Albus eyes widened and more than one spectator was shocked. All over the chamber chatter erupted and it needed some strikes of the chief judge's hammer to quench the noise again.

"I object," Minerva said. It was barely a whisper but nonetheless it was heard.

"Declare yourself," the chief judge growled. He was feeling a headache coming. The whole matter was bad enough, now another complication arose. At least this seemed heartfelt and not some political bullshit as Scrimgeour had started. He didn't like the former Auror and was happy to see him crushed. Rufus' accomplices in the intended political coup would be furious. Losing against a sixteen-year-old, irrespective of how talented he was, wasn't a good start to go against Minister Fudge.

"I am Minerva McGonagall," Minerva declared, her voice slowly gaining in steadiness, her eyes starting to flash with new-found energy. "I am Professor at Hogwarts, Head of House Gryffindor, and the Head of House McGonagall." Not that there remained many in her house aside from a few nieces and nephews, mostly in America. "I object Augusta's right to fight this duel. I demand to fight in her place. My grief is deeper, my wrath sincerer, and my affair more just." Her voice softened. "Augusta, friend, you know my sorrow. Allow me to fight in your stead."

"Did you…" Daphne wondered.

"No idea," Harry shook his head, flabbergasted by the development.

"{Hermione knew something,}" Neville told them, himself feeling floored. The reason had to be really serious if his grandma not only allowed Minerva to take over, but actually pushed her into doing this. Hermione stayed silent but there was no way to mistake her emotions: she was near crying and boiling with hate.

"Minerva, friend," Augusta bowed slightly. "Come down and fight in my stead. House Longbottom feels with House McGonagall in their loss." She breathed deeply. "Your loss is my loss. Your grief is my grief." Her voice rose and there was steel and lava in her voice. "Come down and avenge my goddaughter."

Albus paled and felt like fainting. _She knew. She couldn't … Merlin_. Albus remembered: _my books. Someone read my books and told her. This isn't good_.

"Crush this blasted bastard and stomp him into the ground. House Longbottom will join House McGonagall in their victory jig on his grave."

.

_**A/N**_

_Yes, I reused some spells Ironsides cast in my other story "Crossing the Border", chapter 9. _

_I have to admit that right now I would have preferred to set Albus against Augusta in this duel. However, the poll had been very clear, with 60% seeing Minerva and only 20% each seeing Augusta or Filius as the opponent of Albus. _


	15. Chapter 15 Trial of Grievance - Part two

_**A/N**_

_**Thank you, Butterfly83, for your beta-reading.**_

**.**

**Trial of Grievance – Part Two**

.

_**Minerva**_

"Shut up."

Albus Dumbledore's eyes widened but Minerva wasn't finished, her eyes aflame.

"Shut up, I don't want to hear a single word out of you, you blabbering, self-righteous idiot, you holier-than-though murderous bastard. Just shut up and die."

The transformation of one Minerva McGonagall had been terrifying. As she stepped down into the arena and was greeted by Augusta Longbottom with a hug, she looked very pale and uncertain. Up to that moment she had believed, hoped, clung to the dream that all those accusations were only a nightmare. They couldn't be right. She couldn't have misread her former mentor and friend this much. It couldn't be true that he betrayed her in such a way. Yes, he had done ugly things in the past. What he did to the Longbottoms had been terrible. But even Albus Dumbledore would have some lines he didn't dare cross. It had to be, it simply had.

With every step down the stairs to the arena ground, memories raced through her mind, unbidden and unwelcome, troubling and disturbing.

.

"_I've killed Rosier, Minerva. I had no other choice. He resisted the arrest. We couldn't let him get away."_

_Albus Dumbledore had looked so sad. Minerva felt bad that he had been forced to kill someone, irrespective of how much he deserved it. She had hugged him, and comforted him because of his remorse._

_Inwardly she had felt coldness only. She didn't feel even a sliver of satisfaction about the death of her husband's murderer. She only felt even lonelier._

.

The book told her that it had all been for show, that Albus purposefully killed him to prevent any future compromising statement from the Death Eater. He organized the whole incident, played the information into the hands of Elphinstone's enemies and caused his death, if indirectly.

He could as well have been the one holding the wand and uttering the spell for all that mattered.

.

_She had been floored after Elphinstone's death._

_For weeks she had been down, not knowing how to continue, and what to live for._

_Albus had been there all the time, holding her, nudging her back into life. He gave her new tasks, things to do, more to distract her than anything else. He kept others away, tried to protect her from the drowning pity of her friends._

_He had been like an older brother in a time she needed one more than anything else._

.

It had been a lie. None of his comforting actions or words had been true. He only did it to bind her to him even more than before.

It had all been a lie.

.

"_I'm pregnant, Albus," Minerva pressed the words, her face a mix of angst and pure joy. "I'm pregnant with Elphinstone's child."_

.

Minerva had felt alive again, for the first time since Elphinstone's death. It was as if he had sent her little Freya as a last present from beyond the grave. She wanted Freya so much, more than anything else in her life.

And Albus had been there again: understanding, comforting, and ready to help.

It had been a lie.

He had shown his grandfatherly smile. He had wished her well, had offered his help.

Inwardly, however, he had already plotted how to take her away, how to take Freya away from her.

Minerva sobbed.

.

"_I lost her, Albus," Minerva wailed from her bed, deeply troubled despite the heavy calming potions. "I lost my little baby, my little Freya."_

"_I'm so sorry, Minerva." Albus sat down at her side and pulled her in his arms, his face showing pure concern. He cared for her, he really did. It pained him immensely to see her hurt like this._

"_Please get better soon, Minerva," he whispered as he left._

.

He had been there for her, even more so than after Elphinstone's death. Without him she would have committed suicide, she was certain about that. Albus had given her a reason to live.

And she had believed him, trusted him, and thought him to be her friend.

It had all been an illusion.

.

She hadn't believed it. Or rather: her heart hadn't been able to trust her own feelings. Deep within, she had known every single accusations to be true. He had betrayed her in the worst possible way. And afterwards he had played the concerned friend.

It couldn't be, it couldn't…

All of this changed and came to a crushing hold, when she entered the arena and saw his eyes. Despite everything, despite her words and her trust in Augusta and Filius, she would have stopped the duel from happening if…

If what? If he had been able to look her in the eye and said: _I haven't done it_.

But she saw it, saw it in his eyes, the betrayal, the guilt, the urge to convince her that it had to be done.

For the Greater Good!

For the Greater Good!

For the…

Minerva wanted to scream, wanted to rip him apart with her bare hands, and felt the urge to force open his chest and rip out his traitorous heart. There was so much hate in her heart right now that red spots danced around in her field of view and she nearly passed out.

"SHUT UP AND DIE!"

.

_**Hermione**_

Hermicat watched Minerva McGonagall with an intensity only a cat could muster. Being a cat had some drawbacks as well, she now realized. She had always been very reserved, proud of her self-control. Everything had to be planned and organized; colour markers were her friends. And now she allowed emotions to rule her mind. She was wearing her heart on her sleeve – a very furry sleeve in this case. Watching how Minerva prepared for a deadly duel against an immensely powerful wizard was a shaking experience. She was broadcasting her fears over the mindlink right now.

At least she had Neville back. He had hurried at her side immediately after leaving the arena and was now sitting beside Agatha Pinegrew with Hermicat on his shoulder to have a good look. Augusta had a special seat near the judges, because in the end it was still her duel – only with someone else fighting in her stead.

Neville feared for Minerva McGonagall as well. She had been his head of the house for four years and was – after Madam Sprout – the professor he still respected the most. However, his relief was dominating nonetheless, the relief that his grandma was safe. Even if Minerva lost today: Neville would find a way to make Dumbles pay and he was certain Harry would be eager to help him. Not that he really expected this to happen. Irrespective of all calculations, how mighty and experienced Dumbles happened to be: Minerva McGonagall was on her own little warpath and Merlin may help anybody getting in her way.

_You're in for a heap of pain, Dumbles._

.

_**Minerva**_

Hate was boiling in her and Minerva struggled hard to get her control back. Albus was far too strong for her to attack him outright. She had to be careful or all was lost. And she didn't want him to die too fast. Minerva sneered. She knew exactly how he would behave. Albus was a wizard of grand gestures and outrageous behaviour. He would try to make a show out of the trial. He would expect to fight – and possibly die – in a heroic way. She wouldn't allow this to happen. He simply didn't deserve a hero's death.

"Albus Dumbledore, step forward," the chief judge commanded with a sombre voice. Albus Dumbledore obeyed the call, proud like a general or some hero of the masses. His robes flattered around him in a wind that didn't really exist and his right hand brandished his renowned wand, twitching in his fingers as if was eager to send fire and pain towards Minerva.

_He seems very certain of his victory_, Hermione thought and her eyes narrowed. _Have my calculations been wrong?_ Unbeknownst to Neville she had not only calculated Augusta's chances but Minerva's as well. There were far more inaccuracies and uncertainties however as she wasn't certain about the exact accusations Minerva would utter within the next minutes. But in the end she believed in the victory of her favourite professor.

"At the Trial of Grievance," the chief judge explained to the audience, "no mortal judge is allowed to preside over the duel. Instead we conjure an entity to fill this role, some being created by pure magic and obeying our imagination of its persona. It could be the ghost of a former wizard or witch, some philosophic aspect of our life or even something some of us – now or in the past – called a god.

"Albus Dumbledore, as the challengee, it is your right to decide on the official presiding over this duel. Who will be the arbitrator today?"

Hermione and hundreds of other spectators held their breath. The decision about the nature of the referee could be a decisive one. It could give challenger or challengee a distinct advantage, in defining the gravity and significance of the accusations and defences.

"I choose the arbitrator to be … Lady Justice herself."

_It was a good choice… for Dumbledore_, Hermione decided. Not the best but certainly a good one. Lady Justice was well-known for being strongly against revenge, however well-founded she may be. She was always looking for the overall picture; saw all aspects of a matter. She would decide in Minerva's favour but not as strongly as others would have. Dumbles's usual "Greater Good" lines would fare well with her, Hermione feared.

"So be it," the chief judge accepted the choice.

Without further preamble, something started to shimmer and glitter in the middle of the arena. A massive "being" made its appearance: it resembled a woman, her eyes bandaged, wearing a sword and scales in her hands. Hermione knew that it wasn't the real goddess. It was "only" magic giving form to the imaginations of the audience, to the picture they had of Lady Justice. It was awe-inspiring nonetheless.

"I greet you, Lady Justice," Albus Dumbledore bowed. Minerva rolled her eyes and gave a curt nod only. Lady Justice didn't react to either greeting in any way. She was above such silly gestures.

For a moment Hermione wondered if this magical construct was similar to a corporeal Patronus. It had something to do with imagination and emotion, it hadn't a real personality but perhaps it was – like a Patronus – able to learn and develop. How often had she been invoked in this place before? Or at other, similar places, with this location being rare but not unique in the magical world.

"Minerva McGonagall," the chief judge's voice interrupted her thoughts. "As the challenger it is your right to name the executioner of this trial."

If the on-going events already had the rapt attention of the audience before, now they were leaning forward and hanging on Minerva's every word. The executioner would, in the end, statuate on the result of the duel. It was expected to be till death but it didn't have to be so. Choosing a lenient executioner would leave a bolthole for the challenger as well, because the decision worked both ways. A harsh executioner would mean certain death for the challenger also, should he loose the fight. Choosing the wrong executioner could be very "uncomfortable" to put it nicely, as a trial in the 17th century had proven. Back then the challenger named the Wild Hunt as the executioner. After he lost the fight, he had much time to curse his choice.

The expression on Minerva McGonagall's face told Hermione that it would be an impressive choice in her case. There would be no lenience, no mercy and certainly no bolthole. Albus Dumbledore apparently realized this too and the formerly shown confidence on his features slipped.

"As my executioner I chose," Minerva announced with a grave voice, and Hermione thought she could hear jungle drums in the background, "Gwrach y Rhibyn."

"Oh shit" Neville mumbled while Hermione's mind raced to remember what this was about. Neville was far more familiar with the figures of Celtic Mythology – something Hermione only faintly remembered at being the background of this figure.

"Step forward, Gwrach y Rhibyn, I call you forth," Minerva demanded and really… Hermione gasped, Neville flinched and even Dumbles looked ill as a figure appeared in the arena. She was far smaller than Lady Justice, barely five feet tall, and certainly not as impressive.

"Y mae mor salw â Gwrach y Rhibyn," Neville mumbled a Gaelic proverb. "She is as ugly as Gwrach y Rhibyn."

And he was right. The small hag – Hermione was certain she was one – was as ugly as she was old. She sneered in Lady Justice's direction and seemed far more real, more corporeal. Hermione wasn't certain that this one was a magical construct as well and not the real piece of hell. Harpy-like features, long and scrawny arms with leathery skin, shaggy hair like Hermione on her worst days and long, black teeth – an appearance like this alone could certainly cause nightmares. This didn't get better with Minerva's next demand.

"Gwrach y Rhibyn," she demanded with a voice that sent shudders down Hermione's cat-spine. "I called you to be the executioner in this trial."

"What shall happen to the loser?" The voice wasn't one bit nicer than her appearance.

Minerva's answer made more than one spectator faint.

"The loser's soul will be yours."

.

_**Harry**_

Harry glanced towards his girlfriend. Daphne looked frighteningly pale since the hag's arrival. He put an arm around her and she allowed him to pull her against his chest. He felt her heart flutter.

"Why did she choose her?" She whimpered.

"She'll have her reasons," Harry mumbled, having no idea what prompted Professor McGonagall to take this step. He was certain however that her reasons would be very serious ones. Augusta had called her forth more or less, had obviously decided for herself that Minerva's reasons were graver than her own – something that didn't bore well knowing Augusta's well-known accusations.

"But… her soul, Harry, she's risking her soul," Daphne whispered. Harry didn't know what to say. He assumed that with Daphne being a devout Christian this was especially serious in her eyes. "I think," she hesitated and looked around before she continued, even more silent than before. "I think she's real… the hag I mean."

Now it was Harry's turn to pale as well. _The real Gwrach y Rhibyn_, he wondered, his eyes widening. _The real banshee of the Scottish moors?_

Before he could ask her, a new voice boomed through the chamber, shocking everyone and silencing any other conversation. Somehow Harry knew that while he heard her speak English, others would hear Gaelic or Latin words – perhaps her native language – and Ana would listen to Spanish sentences. Lady Justice had a long history and was part of many cultures.

"Albus Percival Dumbledore! Minerva McGonagall! Before we start the trial with the statements of the charges and the vindication, you are allowed to choose a magical principle as your second. The honesty, truthfulness and rightness of your statements will strengthen your second, allowing it to support you more or less in your fight. Choose wisely and carefully."

Without hesitation Albus Dumbledore squared his shoulders and announced: "for my second there is only one possible choice. It is the one principle that had been the guiding star of my life for the last one hundred years. I choose the Greater Good."

His haughty smile got a bit forced as he noticed dozens of voices uttering the statement with him together, most of them with a sarcastic undertone. Many more simply commented his statement with a groan. For a moment pure rage filled his grandfatherly benevolent eyes. Hastily he suppressed it again. _They'll see. It won't be long anymore before they see_.

Lady Justice nodded. Gwrach y Rhibyn sneered, obviously unimpressed. At Albus' side a magnificent being of pure light came into existence. It hurt to look at it directly. The contours were more or less humanoid but without a real face. There was only brightness, no comforting warmth in that being, Daphne noticed. This was no caring mother but a father telling you how to behave, just perhaps, but certainly not lenient.

"Minerva McGonagall, what do you choose?"

"Family and friends, colleagues and students have always been of more importance to me than any intangible principle," Minerva explained slowly, her voice thoughtful and her eyes full of memories. "My grandmother was my guidance about family life. My father explained to me the importance of loyalty and diligence. Elphinstone," her voice broke for a moment. She gulped and continued: "showed me friendship and love. The most importance however had been the one proving that there is a future and hope for all of us. However fleeting they may be and however hurtful it is to lose them again: without a future and hope there is no reason to live. Therefore I chose my daughter to be my second; I chose Freya Sophia McGonagall. She had been my future and hope for a few precious months and I'll never forget her."

Lady Justice' reaction wasn't any stronger after she spoke, she simply didn't care. The reactions of the audience were far more exuberant. Most of them didn't even know that there had ever been someone named Freya Sophia McGonagall. Now they waited for more information about this daughter, guessing that her life – and death – had something to do with her mother being down there now in the arena, waiting to battle one of the strongest wizards alive.

Harry's eyes however widened as a second creature of light appeared, smaller than the other one but much more tangible. She looked like a real girl or young woman of around eighteen or nineteen years. There was a stunning similarity to Minerva, only she was a tad sturdier built and her hair was longer and flowing in the winds of magic. She didn't say anything but offered Minerva a smile. For a moment he wondered if this had been a good choice. Certainly the memories could as easily distract Minerva as strengthen her resolve. But just then something happened, too fast to be noticed by many. Gwrach y Rhibyn flicked her bony hand towards Freya Sophia McGonagall, a small light hitting the girl and a malicious grin crossing the hag's face.

"What…" Harry started to ask as he noticed a heart-rending sob from Daphne. For a few seconds complete confusion dominated her mind before she got a grip again and completely shut the mindlink down, expulsing even Harry from her mind.

"Daphne, what…" He stopped as she shook her head, tears streaming down her face.

"Not now," she whispered barely understandable. "I'll explain later."

_What happened?_ Harry wondered. _Did she notice something I didn't?_ He really wanted to ask her but he respected her wish to keep silent.

_Later._

.

_**Daphne**_

She couldn't tell him. She couldn't risk Minerva knowing the truth. She had to keep it her secret. For a blink of an eye she felt the gaze of the hag rest on her, with that malicious grin. Daphne bit on her hand, hard, to suppress her urge to scream. How could she? This despicable old hag. Harry, not knowing what got through her mind but feeling how troubled she was, pulled her against his chest again. It was good to have him at her side.

"Minerva McGonagall," Lady Justice' booming voice demanded, "State your accusations. Explain your reasons to invoke this trial to us."

"Albus Dumbledore," Minerva started, for the start keeping her voice neutral but with emotion slowly dripping into her speech more and more. "You have committed crimes against the House of Gryffindor, whose head I am. You committed crimes against the Order of the Phoenix, whose second-in-command I've been for nearly two decades. And you committed crimes against the House of McGonagall."

Daphne hadn't expected the part about House Gryffindor and the Order of the Phoenix. It was quite clever, she had to admit. This way she was able to declare Dumbledore the culprit of the crimes against the Potter and the Longbottoms as well, as all four parents as well as Harry and Neville – if only for a while – had been Gryffindors under her care.

And really: Minerva explained how his deeds had been hurtful for them. She concentrated on the things the parents could have done if allowed to live their lives. Lily Potter, one of the greatest Mistresses of Charms and Potions. Even Headmaster Flitwick had once admitted that she would have surpassed him if allowed to live another ten or twenty years. James Potter, who was nearly as talented in Transfiguration as his wife had been in Charms. Alice and Frank, not only great Aurors, but also caring members of the society. Daphne, like many others in the audience, was certain that the magical society of today would be different had those four been allowed to influence it over the last fifteen years.

With every explanation, Freya Sophia grew a tiny bit. In the end she had got nearly a foot in height and looked healthier than before. Daphne knew that this wouldn't be the end of the accusations; that they not even were the most important ones, but in the end every little point could be the one deciding the fate of the trial.

"What do you have to say in your defence so far, Albus Dumbledore?"

With a nearly bored voice Albus countered with as he usually did. He actually explained the prophecy – "sorry, my boy, that I have to tell this in public" – and how he had been forced to do what he did. "The prophecy was our only hope. Fate forced my hand." Harry felt disgusted, even more so as he saw Lady Justice lending truth to the statements by strengthening Albus' 'Greater Good'. Apparently he really believed his bullshit, mad hatter that he was, and it was equally obvious that Lady Justice thought 'Fate' to be an acceptable defence. The Greater Good didn't gain as much power as Freya Sophia had, but still… Harry wasn't impressed by Lady Justice so far.

"Continue, Minerva McGonagall."

"Eighteen years ago, a Rosier and his henchmen ambushed a group of Aurors and murdered them. One of the victims was their leader, my late husband Elphinstone Urquhart. You Albus Dumbledore," she pointed at him with an accusatory index finger, "were the one to place the information into his murderous hands. You used your underling Dedalus Diggle to make this ambush possible. You didn't kill my Elphinstone yourself, but you're still to blame for his death."

Her words caused a ruckus in the audience. The chief judge had issues to silence them. It didn't help him that Albus more or less admitted the deed. "We were a divided land back then," he defended his actions with a sombre voice, full of pathos and false grief. "Not only did brother fight brother in this battle of light and darkness, but the light was divided as well. Elphinstone Urquhart wasn't willing to see reason. He only trusted his own council." Albus obviously didn't see the joke: that he was doing the same all the time, hypocrite that he was.

"Divided we would have fallen to the darkness. Sadly there was no other way to unite the light again than to sacrifice him. I regret it every single day of my life." His last sentence rang so false in Harry's eyes, he feared they would start to bleed. Lady Justice however reacted the same as before. _He has chosen well_, Harry realized. Again the "Greater Good" didn't grow as much as "Freya Sophia" but grow it did.

"There is one crime however that tops all others," Minerva growled, reminding Daphne very much of an angry lioness. "While behaving like a friend, showing this false front of caring and concern, you took away the one thing that was the most precious to me. You killed her, Albus," she whispered hoarsely, shaking violently with a mix of anger and grief. "You killed my little angel. You pushed me down the stairs and left me alone, only 'finding' me hours later when Poppy could do nothing to rescue her anymore. Because of you my daughter, my little Freya, will never see the light. You are a murderer and betrayer of friendship, Albus."

It was a good thing that Hermione was a helpless cat right now and Harry's emotions were blocked from her mind, as both of her friends were raging, wished to kill Albus Dumbledore not waiting for the duel to happen. In their mind the former Headmaster didn't deserve an honourable death. This didn't stop the man from vindicating even this deed.

"Dozens of members flocked to the Order and to the Light because of you, Minerva. Dozens took up their wand and fought at our side. Others took confidence in the cause and stayed brave because you stayed as well. I needed you, Minerva. The Light needed you. Perhaps we would have won without you at my side, but the war would have lasted far longer. Yes, I sacrificed her. I sacrificed your luck, I admit and regret it. However, it had to be done. You would have left otherwise, Minerva. I simply couldn't allow this to happen."

For a moment there was silence all around. The audience was divided. There were hundreds of parents, siblings and children that understood Minerva's pain and wanted to support her. However, there were others as well, politicians and so-called realists. They understood Dumbledore's reasoning as well, understood harsh decisions. It was difficult to value Minerva's role in the last war but if Dumbledore was this certain about her part, perhaps it had been the right thing to do. It came to no surprise to Daphne that again the Greater Good nearly matched Freya Sophia in its growth. She was disappointed, but not surprised.

"I'm not certain the difference will be enough," Harry whispered concerned.

"We can only hope," was Daphne's only response, her eyes never leaving little Freya Sophia. _We can only hope_. _She simply has to win with these stakes_.

.

_**Neville – Round One**_

The beginning of the fight was a very slow one. It was completely different to the first duel, more sedate but also more elegant. Neville had to admit that despite all his talent and raw power: he couldn't compare to the experience, knowledge and pure grandeur of Professor McGonagall – or Dumbledore. He hated the man and wanted to see him beaten and dead, but he had to admit that he was a great wizard.

The contestants took their places far away from each other, the whole arena separating them. With a long-winded gesture Albus Dumbledore started the fight, creating a ditch that cut the ground in half. A second gesture and the ditch became filled with water. There was even a current in the water, making the surface bubble.

"{There is a second current on the ground in the other direction,}" Hermione explained. Neville nodded. While he had learned much about water magic, his senses still weren't trained enough to feel this detail.

Minerva countered with some long gestures of her own and some words that sounded Gaelic to Neville's ears. He nodded appreciatively as three small stony bridges built themselves over the river.

"{Is she using real Earth magic?}" Harry wondered.

"{She is,}" Neville responded. "{She told me that her mentor tried to teach her elemental magic, thinking her to be especially talented at Earth magic. However, her talent and interest in Transfiguration was far more distinct and she never earnestly continued her education in earth magic – until I started to learn it a year ago.}"

Dumbledore ignored the bridges for now and instead 'protected' his side by creating a number of fire bowls with little fire elementals in them.

"{Those are for show only,}" Harry sneered his comment. It was no surprise to the others. With water being Dumbledore's strongest element, it was no surprise that he wasn't very accomplished at fire magic – compared to Brychan Camwy or Harry at least.

At Minerva's sides a tall tree and a little pond came into existence. The tree looked like an ancient cypress, more stone than plant, and the pond contained mud instead of water. The meaning of those objects became clear very soon, as Minerva started to transform some of the objects lying around into a score of…

"{Pelicans,}" Daphne snickered. She didn't need to feel Harry's emotions; the sight of his quizzical expression was enough to guess his question. "{They are called Pelicans.}"

"{I knew that,}" he pouted, earning him a round of snickers.

They left the ground and landed in the pond, the flight far more graceful than the landing. They immediately started to swim around, behaving like they were fishing with their big beaks. Even Dumbledore seemed to wonder what his former colleague and comrade had in mind with those birds.

A second gesture and four of the logs transformed into winged serpents. The similarity to Daphne's Patronus wasn't lost to the audience or Dumbledore. He got a child-like pout on his face and Neville assumed that Dumbles felt a tad betrayed. Minerva could have chosen a Griffin instead or anything more lion-like. Obviously she had other ideas.

"{She's really good at compensating her Air Elemental weakness with her transfiguration spells,}" Harry commented, and the others agreed.

.

"{He really wants to stay away from her, doesn't he?}" Neville grinned. He remembered quite well the physical attacks Dumbles had to endure in the trial to off him from his headmaster job. Perhaps he feared a repetition – something very believable with Minerva being this angry.

Dumbledore had tried for a while to wreck Minerva's bridges. One of them had actually collapsed, the water doing good work of disintegrating its foundations. The other two however still stood proudly, one of them even growing in size while the third turned into a graceful looking, metallic bridge that resembled a giant rose bush connecting both shores. After a while Dumbles stopped his futile attempts and turned to another activity. First he magically tossed a number of smaller objects into the river and turned them into sharks, according to the fins criss-crossing in the water. Then he targeted four of the statues on his side and animated them, using a bit of the magic stored in the "Greater Good" to make them look more powerful, more splendid and more…

"{The Four Founders? Really?}" Neville growled, unimpressed by the audacity. "{I thought we have covered a year ago already how poor a Headmaster he had been.}"

"{You still assume Dumbles is able to undergo contemplation and insight?}" Harry wondered.

"{Ups, sorry,}" Neville chortled. "{My bad!}"

The boys were soon distracted however by Hermione's laughter at Minerva's reaction. Even Daphne smiled as Minerva countered Dumbles' four founders with her own infernal quartet.

The first one turned into some kind of warrior, with a round shield, wearing a kind of leotard. The contours of his muscles were a tad exaggerated and his chin far too angular.

"Captain America," some Muggleborn in the audience bellowed, raising mostly confusion among the audience. He was right however, as Harry realized. Only this super hero was more of a Captain Scotland, with the blue-white flag of Scotland on his shield, cap and chest.

Paired to him the second statue turned into a Highland warrior, complete with kilt and broadsword. His face reminded Harry very much of Mel Gibson. His _Braveheart_ had only been in the cinemas a year ago.

While the first pair of statues obviously were meant as proof of her national pride – both pride in her home as the place were Hogwarts was located – the other pair had only one intention: to ridicule Albus Dumbledore and his holier-than-life impression of "I have God, Merlin and the four founders on my side". While Albus Dumbledore wanted to make a political statement, to turn this duel into something big, awe-inspiring and dignified, Minerva had no such intention. She didn't believe in Albus' right to have an honourable death, not anymore.

Even how they used their second was very different. While the "Greater Good" used some kind of wand to send an energizing light towards the four founders – all very sombre and grandiose – Minerva's four statues each got a heart-felt hug from "Freya Sophia" to be activated. There was even a feeling of sadness radiating from the girl, as if she knew that the four statues would be sent to their destruction awfully soon.

Following her intention, Minerva's statue three and four turned into a pair of five feet bunnies. The left one was easily recognizable as Babbity Rabbity, the famous fairy tale character. The second bunny was a tad smaller, more slender and had ridiculously long ears. All in all he really looked like…

"{Bugs Bunny,}" Harry and Hermione instantly recognized him for what it was.

While not everybody recognized the statues' identities, there was much giggling and whispering around, slowly erupting into roaring laughter as the information spread. Dumbledore was fuming, a result that Minerva apparently liked and intended from the start.

"{She has impressive control over her emotions,}" Harry admitted with a heap of respect in his voice.

"{She's burning inwardly,}" Daphne commented. "{It's only for show.}"

"{We'll be there for her afterwards,}" Hermione decided. "{She'll need our support after this.}"

"{Yes, we will,}" Harry agreed. He already had an idea how to accomplish that.

.

_**Harry – Round Two**_

_The gloves are off, it seems_, Harry thought. So far both duellists had only used their magic to prepare the battlefield, to build up their armies and disrupt their opponent's preparations. Dumbles even once started to harass Minerva with a bombardment of fire – again not very effective, especially because "Captain Scotland" made efficient use of his shield to deflect any fire missile daring to approach his mistress.

Now however, Minerva started her own attack. Using some wind charm she learned from Agatha Pinegrew, she created a little sand storm to cover the advance of her henchmen. A little gesture sent the Pelicans into the air, followed on the ground by her duo of human warriors. The pair of bunnies stayed at her side for now, watching her as she did something with a little stone she grabbed from the earth. Daphne's eagle sight spell allowed Harry to watch this more closely.

_What is she doing?_ He wondered. It looked like she turned the stone into a little locket, only without a chain, and attached it to her chest, hiding the object with her robes. She was very precise how to place the object and handled it very carefully. _Like it's a handful of C4_, Harry mused.

In the meantime the Pelicans split into two smaller flocks. One attacked the fire elementals in their bowls, pouring muddy water on them, while the rest distracted the four founders. Those four had moved to intercept the advance of the Scottish duo that just crossed the bridges. Gryffindor pulled a sword from his scabbard, while Helga and Rowena started to fire small spells to bring down the annoying Pelicans. Slytherin even called forth a group of serpents to attack "Mel Gibson". This went far beyond any traditional transfiguration or animation spell. Harry noticed however, that the Greater Good lost a tiny bit of his power every time one of the founders used a spell.

A torrent of water suddenly hit the Pelicans and washed them away. Dumbledore apparently had now decided to intervene: Godric Gryffindor and Captain Scotland engaged in a melee fight, sword against shield. Both weren't the real thing but impressive enough. Helga Hufflepuff had to stay put for a while, hit the worst by those muddy water attacks, but Rowena Ravenclaw supported Salazar Slytherin's snakes with her spells as they harassed Mel Gibson. He jumped back and forth to dodge the spells while cutting the snakes in halves with his broadsword.

Minerva, having finished her stone/locket transfiguration, advanced a few steps and cast a spell targeted at the sharks in the water. Those had been fairly useless to Dumbledore so far and Minerva hated to waste useful things. The fins instantly vanished from the surface. For a moment Harry wondered what happened to them, as a couple of Alligators left the water and advanced towards Slytherin and Rowena. A second flick of her wand and the waiting winged serpents turned into Eagles who immediately started to fly towards the on-going battle.

Rowena switched targets and hurled her spells against the Alligators but their hardy skins deflected the weak spells easily. Slytherin increased the attack on Mel Gibson and, slowly, the Scottish warrior succumbed to the snake attacks, only to have the Eagles dive down to snatch them from the ground. On the left Gryffindor, who had been able to make a few grazing hits against Captain Scotland, got his heavy shield right in the face and staggered back.

The clever thing for Dumbledore would have been, Harry mused, to omit the whole four founders' idea and start to hurl spells in earnest. However, he apparently stuck to his picture of the big bad – err, good – general and instead lent them even more power, weakening his greater good again. Helga Hufflepuff, having recovered from the attacks and now able again to see clearly, instantly went to support Gryffindor. Just as Captain Scotland moved to knock him out for good, a spell flashed against his chest and pushed him aside. Groggily he shook his head and lifted his shield just in time to deflect the next spell.

Minerva who had until now behaved similarly to Dumbledore and mostly watched the fight from the back now jogged towards the bridges, her bunny duo close behind. Dumbledore would have none of this and wanted to keep her away. An animation spell of his hit the bridge built of metallic rose branches. One end lifted itself from the ground, swayed back and forth for a moment before it, like a whip, lashed out against the stone bridge and easily destroyed it.

Now separated from the other "riverside" again, with apparition out of the question and certainly even transfiguration not able to mimic a flying broom, Harry wondered how Minerva would continue. Perhaps she would simply swim through, despite that turning her into an easy target. She could transform the water into ice as well or perhaps her Earth magic was strong enough to cross the ground under the river. Neville certainly could do that, Harry assumed, and Hermione perhaps too. Minerva however chose to do nothing of the sort. Instead she heaped another shovel of disrespect onto her former mentor: she had two bunnies at her sides and intended to make good use of them.

Roaring laughter filled the whole chamber – a sound certainly not expected in such a deadly trial – as Minerva linked arms with her bunnies. Together they raced towards the river and then crossed the water in a mighty four-rabbit's-feet jump. Graceful they landed on the other side, eager to play a role in the fight.

Again the battle took a turn to the serious. The cavalry had arrived.

.

_**Hermione – Round Three**_

Minerva's first action was to banish the remaining snakes back at Slytherin. A single glance told her that "Mel Gibson" wouldn't stand up again, his now worthless sword remaining, stuck into the ground like some symbol of defeat. With Slytherin struggling to get his snakes under control again while dodging the annoying eagles' attacks, and Rowena running circles while testing all kind of spells to put down the quartet of Alligators hunting her, nobody noticed the pair of bunnies disappearing into the ground. _What are they up to?_ Hermione wondered.

On the left Captain Scotland was still hard pressed to defend himself against the sword strokes of Gryffindor and Helga's spells. _He had been hit several times and is seriously damaged_ – Hermione resisted to use the word injured, if only in her own mind, with this being a magical construct and not a real person, irrespective of how real it looked.

Minerva tried to rescue him by adding a hardening spell to his shield and creating a little earth wall that would absorb a couple of Helga's spells. However, she instantly suffered for her moment of distraction. Minerva barely dodged Dumbles' cutting curse, and got glazed by a second one that made her left shoulder bleed. The third spell would have hit her in earnest, only it was stopped by a shield that suddenly came into existence in front of her. She had no time to turn around but the source of the spell was clear: Freya.

"{She's casting spells on her own.}" Hermione realized. It couldn't be, could it? Her statement was proven true a moment later, as a number of healing/repairing spells washed over Captain Scotland, vanishing most of the damage. There was apparently even some kind of invigorating spell in there, something akin to a pepper-up potion, as the fighter now moved faster again and didn't look exhausted anymore.

"{How can this be?}" Neville wondered. "{Dumbles' second obviously needs orders to do something and mostly only strengthens his spells.}"

"{Perhaps because his second is only a principle and Minerva's is based on a real person,}" Harry assumed. A glance towards Daphne's stricken face told him there were other reasons at work as well.

"{Yes, perhaps,}" Neville agreed.

On the ground the battle of the minions was coming to an end. Slytherin had been able to survive, bruised and battered but nonetheless. Most of the eagles and snakes were destroyed by now. Rowena, while successful in destroying one of the alligators, was on the ground, with the other three crowding on her succumbed body. While there weren't any screams of pain and no real blood, it looked ugly enough when one of them ripped of her right leg and another was munching on her wand arm. On the left, an invigorated and strengthened Captain Scotland made Gryffindor's sword break on his shield and knocked him down. He was now free to engage Helga Hufflepuff.

The bunnies hadn't reappeared so far. Where were they hiding? And why?

.

_**Daphne – Round Four**_

"Enough!"

All fighting instantly stopped, as Dumbles stepped forward, with widespread arms and an angry expression. He raised a storm of magic, backed up by his second, making short work of all summoned, transfigured and animated objects. It was an impressive sight – certainly his intention. Within seconds the four founders, the eagles, snakes and alligators as well as Captain Scotland and Mel Gibson turned into fine powder. Even the bridges and the small river were gone. Only the sword sticking in the ground remained somehow and Daphne wondered if the pair of bunnies was still lurking somewhere below.

She realized that everything so far, impressive as the display of transfiguration magic had been, was only foreplay to the real fight. Minerva and Dumbles locked eyes, their wands halfway lifted, waiting for the other to lose nerves and act first.

From her left she heard something and needed a moment to recognize it. Harry was whistling something, a melody she actually knew. It was the theme music from "Once upon a time in the West". Without looking she stopped him with an elbow in the lower ribs. Daphne narrowed her eyes and watched the occupants closely. Both didn't show any signs of exhaustion. _They should be floored by now with this amount of magic used. The arena is really doing something to their cores_. She had known that fact before, but knowing and seeing were two different things. The Greater Good was hovering behind Dumbles, still looking impressive but a tad apathetic. Freya Sophia however edged nearer and used a small healing spell to vanish the cut in Minerva's shoulder, following up with a revitalizing and a mind-sharpening spell, Daphne knew from her healer training. It was normally used by healers after 24-hours shifts to stay sharp.

Dumbles started with an incredibly fast water current spell, hurling dozens of cube feet of water towards Minerva. Only the half-second required by the water to cross the distance allowed Minerva to erect a wall in front of her that stopped the attack. At the same time it blocked the line of sight between both fighters. Dumbles instantly followed up by throwing a dozen little stones into the air, transforming them into something Daphne didn't recognize and banished them_. He's playing catapult right now, covering the area invisible to him with a dozen… whatever._

Minerva didn't wait for something to happen. Instead she took her cat-form and raced towards the edge of her little wall. She had chosen the size well, as there was a little cranny in the ground, allowing her to continue for a few yards more without being detected. _I only wonder what she left behind_, Daphne mused. Before taking cat-form, Minerva had dropped a little handkerchief or something similar. Two seconds later the transformed stones started to rain down on the ground. On impact they actually exploded. _He used Alchemy to create simple grenades_, Daphne recognized the tactic. _Clever_, she had to admit_, but not clever enough_.

The handkerchief on the ground actually gave a startled scream, choking the sound instantly. Daphne blinked. By closing her eyes she would have believed the illusion. Dumbles seemed to do so as well. He stopped his advance towards the wall of earth and tossed another dozen stones into the air, transforming them as well. Just as he moved to banish them towards Minerva, the witch in question returned to her human form and hit her opponent with a Lancea spell. It only grazed his wand arm and didn't do much damage, but it broke his concentration. The stone-grenades tumbled to the ground. Dumbles was barely able to erect a shield, before they hit the ground and covered him with splinters, battering him around through the sheer force of their explosions.

"Lancea! Lancea! Pugnus saxeus!"

Her pair of Lancea spells was enough to break his shield, weakened as it was by the grenades. The following-up stone fist hit him square in the chest and whirled him around. Dumbles was halfway on the ground now, near helpless against the ongoing barrage of spells. If Minerva had used darker spells that moment, the turn of the fight might have been decided then. However, she stayed with cutting curses, Reductos and Lanceas. Dumbles was able to draw more magic from his second, erected another shield – this one far stronger than the first – to defend himself. He wasn't smiling anymore, however. First she embarrassed him by her choice of assistants. Then she surprised him by using her useless cat-form in such a duel. She even hurt him. _You'll pay for this, Minerva_. All guilt was forgotten as he started a new attack.

.

_**Neville – Round Five**_

The storm of spells intensified after that. Dumbles switched back and forth between all kind of spells, using attacks from all four elements – if very varied in their strength – and threw weird spells into the mix from all over the world. Some of them could be blocked by a shield. Others had to be stopped by a slab of stone summoned into their paths. A third type had to be dodged or dispelled. He had been around for more than a century, with one of the greatest libraries at his fingertips, and it showed.

He was slowly exhausting Minerva. She was rarely able to cast an attack on him and she was shrinking back. Dumbles made heavy use of his second's power as his own core would have long been depleted by now. Dumbles threw another foreign spell her way – Persian this time, not that she recognized it. Hastily she summoned another slab of stone into the air, only to have it pulverized by the spell. Hundreds of stone splinters battered her, caused dozens of tiny wounds and stunned her for a second. It was long enough for a simple Expelliarmus to connect and disarm her.

Suddenly there was silence all over the arena. _Oh no!_ With a malicious smile Dumbles walked towards Minerva, his eyes narrowed should she try something. He raised his wand to lazily throw another spell at her, as a sudden voice distracted him.

"Why Albus?" A female voice cried. Neville whirled around and his eyes widened. Instead of Freya Sophia there was another female form standing, similar in age but completely different in appearance. She looked familiar somehow, but Neville couldn't place her. Dumbles however froze. "Why did you kill me, Albus?" The young woman continued. "You were my brother. You were meant to love me." Slowly Dumbles turned around, his eyes wide. Only now did Neville see the similarity. Dumbles was a man and far older, but there was still the chin and the eyes looking awful alike. He had no idea who or what this was about but his former Headmaster seemed to be flabbergasted. "Ariana…"

"{She can change her form?}" Harry wondered. "{Is she meant to do this?}"

"{This one yes,}" Daphne responded without further explanation.

One the ground Minerva's wand was sliding towards his mistress. Only Harry saw, thanks to his eagle sight, the small rabbit hand pushing it.

"THIS ISN'T REAL," Dumbles screamed and hurled a spell towards Freya/Ariana. It looked like a bunch of one-foot saw-disks rotating swiftly in the air. Before they could connect to the shining form of the young woman, Minerva grabbed her wand and banished them aside. They missed their target only by a foot or two, but Freya was safe – for now.

.

_**Harry – Round Six**_

Dumbles however turned around, enraged and out for his pound of flesh. He drew mightily upon the "Greater Good", sucking most of its power into his core and leaving behind only a shadow of its former glory. It was kind of allegoric: the big bad wizard depleting the greater good for his own selfish purposes. Harry had to admit however that he looked mighty now, the great wizard everybody thought him to be. _I wouldn't like to go against him right now_.

Minerva only escaped the first three attacks because she assumed cat-form again and raced around. Three times Dumbles' attacks missed her; three times they caused scars in the ground, one foot wide and ten feet long. _Each of them was strong enough to break through any shield and kill her_, Harry mused, concerned about Minerva. She turned back into her human self and countered with a few spells of her own, her own magic replenished by Freya in a more sedated but continuous way. None of her spells, however, were able to break through Dumbles' defences. Around him an aureole of magic was visible, simple absorbing everything she hurled at him. Only when Minerva used an earth spell did he actually used a miniscule part of his power to deflect it.

Those attacks however were rare, as Minerva was trying her best to stay alive. It was a race of dodging his attacks against the duration of Dumbles' power boost. _She isn't going to last long_, Harry feared. Yes, Dumbles was using up incredible amounts of magic, but he wasn't looking like he was depleting his reservoir anytime soon. Suddenly it was over. Minerva moved a split second to late, her shield was far too weak, and the powerful Messorius cut through her shield like it was paper before slicing her chest open. She crumpled to the ground and lost grip of her wand. Her chest was bleeding profusely and Harry was certain he saw some of her ribs.

"Reducto!" The spell whirled her around like a rag doll. A second spell hit her wand and cut it in four fragments. He wouldn't risk any repetition. Only now did he advance, slowly.

The fight was nearly at its end.

.

_**Hermione – Round Seven**_

Dumbles looked down at his former friend and henchwoman. She had been at his side for decades, only to betray him now. Didn't she realize that everything he had done, had been founded in his wish to further the greater good? She was a hero or could have been, only because he vanished the distraction that was her man, and that her child would have become. He hated to see her like this – undiscerning. Even now she reciprocated his stare with a glare of her own. _Unrepentant even in death. _

Dumbles raised his wand. "Any last word, Minnie?"

_In a film she would draw a dagger or the cavalry would arrive_, Hermione thought, not wishing to see this but unable to look away. And arrive it did. Dumbles screamed as Babbity Rabbity turned up from the ground, grabbed his ankles and bit his calf right above his foot, biting clear through the Achilles tendon. Dumbles staggered for a second, only to be hit by an explosion of light. The amulet on Minerva's chest, created what felt a lifetime ago, revealed its effect now, shedding an incredible amount of ultra violet light, blinding Dumbles for a few seconds and causing dire sunburns on his face. Blind as he was, he still wasn't helpless. Staggering back and forth, unable to kick the damned rabbit, he cast spells all around, eager to hit Minerva, to hit the rabbit, to hit anything.

A new wave of healing magic washed over Minerva, not closing the serious wound completely, but doing enough to allow her to regain her stance. Her wand was too far away, broken as it was, and this time no rabbit would push it her way. However she saw something else. Far behind Dumbles the second rabbit left the ground and grabbed the long forgotten sword of Mel Gibson. Hermione felt torn between crying and laughing as the five-foot rabbit whirled around a six-and-half foot sword, running towards Dumbles and Minerva while swaying the big sword around. Bugs Bunny actually jumped in the air just as Minerva, forgetting her own wand for now, reached out for Dumbles chest with her bare hands.

"Raptus Pectoris!" The heart rapture spell was seriously weakened by the wandless casting but still strong enough to stagger him again – right into the path of the charging rabbit.

_Merlin! _

The sword cut clean through his arm right at the elbow. Forearm, hand and wand slumped to the ground, while Dumbles – deep in pain from his aching heart – nearly missed the new wound. Bugs Bunny apparently had used up all his stored power, because he instantly fell to the ground himself and shattered into tiny lumps of stone and earth.

Dumbles staggered around. Minerva followed him slowly.

_She looking like a cat right now._

The impression only intensified as Minerva transformed her left hand into a cat-like claw, only the size staying the same. _Part-transfiguration of her Animagus form, impressive._

Dumbles swayed back and forth, the stump at his right arm bleeding profusely, and his chest aching from the rupture spell. The lent magical power bled away as well with Dumbles unable to contain it anymore.

"Don't. Call. Me. Minnie!" Minerva grabbed his left wrist with her right hand, keeping him upright for a second, only to slash at his throat with her cat-paw.

Dumbles gurgled. Blood was streaming from the carotid cut open. Minerva kept him upright for a few moments more before allowing him to sink onto his knees. He gurgled something incomprehensible. Minerva didn't respond, only stared him in the eye coldly. Slowly he sank forward onto his face, the blood pooling around his neck and arm. He shuddered… once… twice… then he was out. At the same time the "Greater Good" vanished, its disappearance clear proof of Dumbledore's death.

Minerva however wasn't done completely. Weaving her arms she used her earth magic to slowly transform Albus into rock. It was the same spell Harry and his friends had used on Voldy. She however closed this up with a final spell.

"Bombarda Maxima!"

The spell hit her unmoving, petrified opponent and pulverized him completely. There wasn't even enough left for a funeral.

The great Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was no more.

.

_**Minerva – Epilogue**_

For a moment all went silent. Then the audience erupted into a storm of clapping hands and cries of joy. Frenetic acclamation all over the chamber – not everybody was content with the result but the few malcontents got drowned by the sheer mass of supporters.

As suddenly as it started, the exultation stopped again and screams of horror filled the chamber. Where Dumbles' body had been, where he had hit the ground, a cloud slowly formed and adopted the contours of an old man. For a few seconds Dumbles was recognizable, but only until Gwrach y Rhibyn raised her bony hand. Screaming and fighting against the pull, Dumbles' soul – Harry had no doubt it was exactly this – was pulled towards the hag, slowly solidifying into a gleaming rock and hovering towards the hag's hand. Gwrach y Rhibyn grinned maliciously as it ended there, raising her eyes to Minerva who looked a bit pale.

"I would have preferred to take yours, Minerva," she grinned a toothy, humourless grin. "It would have been far tastier than this withered one. But perhaps I will get a chance another day, what do you think?"

Minerva shuddered slightly but didn't dare to answer. Perhaps calling the hag hadn't been her best idea. However, she had been so angry. Now she was calm again, glad that it was over.

Gwrach y Rhibyn waved her farewell into the round, some people in the audience having the dire feeling that the hag's eyes rested a bit longer on them, and just wanted to disappear, as the commanding voice of Lady Justice stopped her.

"We are not done here," she boomed, startling everybody around. The chief judge threw her a quizzical look. What was left to do? The fight was over and Minerva had only to be declared the winner – not that there was any doubt about it.

Gwrach y Rhibyn however fidgeted around. She seemed to know what Lady Justice had in mind.

"The fight is over," Lady Justice announced. "Minerva McGonagall won fair and honestly, risking her own soul in the process to bring justice to the world." Her words were a reminder that Minerva had risked very much as well. Perhaps it would be enough to keep any malevolent among Dumbles' friends from lashing out against her because of his dire punishment.

"However, you changed this trial with your doing, Gwrach y Rhibyn," Lady Justice continued. "You risked a third soul as well." Her eyes went to Freya Sophia. Everybody else did as well and Minerva paled frighteningly, sagging onto her knees.

"{That's what you noticed,}" Harry realized. Daphne barely nodded, her eyes still wet.

"You noticed that, did you?" The old hag cackled. Lady Justice only glared.

Minerva whispered "I never wanted this…"

"I know," Lady Justice boomed.

"But you noticed," Minerva got angry now. "You noticed and allowed it to happen."

"Yes, I did," Lady Justice nodded.

"But why? Why did you allow it? Freya had nothing… this was my fight."

"Did you tell me or did you not that this trial was not about revenge but about hope and future?" Lady Justice demanded to know. Daphne's teary face turned into a soft smile as Freya edged towards Minerva and put a comforting arm around her. Minerva suddenly looked ten years younger at least. She nodded.

"I did. And I meant it. Only with Albus Dumbledore out of the way has our society a chance for change. He was nearly as bad as Tom Riddle about stopping us from changing for the better. Now our children will have a future." There were many gasps around the audience, equally for her using that name as for the comparison.

Lady Justice nodded, accepting Minerva's words. Then she turned towards Gwrach y Rhibyn. "In changing the trial, you changed the outcome too, Gwrach y Rhibyn: A life for a life, Gwrach y Rhibyn, and a soul for a soul. You know your duty."

"Do I really have to?" She actually whined, now looking like a girl whom someone stole her favourite doll.

"Yes, you have," Lady Justice confirmed. "Actions have consequences." The audience had no idea what this meant, so far. Minerva too looked very confused.

Gwrach y Rhibyn however sighed deeply. Again she waved her hand, this time towards Freya Sophia. The young woman vanished and a second stone appeared in the hag's hand. No, it wasn't a stone but equally small.

"No," Minerva wailed. "I wanted to say farewell."

Gwrach y Rhibyn grumbled something and made a gesture with her hand, hurling the stone or whatever it was towards Minerva. It glowed shortly as it hit her stomach and vanished. Minerva looked flabbergasted at her stomach, didn't dare to move. She felt something change in her, something big. For a few seconds sickness overwhelmed her and she nearly doubled over.

"Only to make this crystal clear: that doesn't make me her godmother," Gwrach y Rhibyn cackled, her humour returning. Thoughtfully she added: "maybe, maybe not." She lovingly petted the stone that was Dumbles' soul and vanished with a plop before Minerva could say anything, not that she was in any condition to say something.

"{Did she do what I think she just did?}" Neville asked feeling completely floored. Hermicat could only nod, being equally overwhelmed.

"Minerva McGonagall is declared the winner of this Trial of Grievance," Lady Justice solemnly announced. "Use your second chance at a future well, Minerva." With a tiny smile, the first she had shown so far, Lady Justice vanished as well.

And all hell broke loose.

.

_**A/N**_

_**About Minerva**_

_According to Harry Potter Wiki, Minerva is 67 at the time of the trial. With women today getting pregnant up to an age around 45+ and witches having longer life spans, I found it to not too outrageous to make her pregnant at this special time and place._

_Next time: the quartet moves to Prague at last._


	16. Chapter 16 Voyage preparations

**Voyage preparations**

.

_**Somewhere near Nottingham – 15**__**th**__** of August**_

.

Henry Broden lifted the tray from the kitchen table, squared his shoulders and plastered a smile on his face. For a second his good mood slipped and a sigh escaped his lips, but hastily he got a grip of himself and called the smile back – the most adoring and honest one in his broad gigolo repertoire. He walked to the door, pushed it open with his shoulder and entered the bedroom, where SHE was waiting: Bella.

As promised she was waiting in the well-used bed, her eyes shiny, and her big mouth smiling. She actually giggled as she noticed him. For the last days "Bella" had been behaving like a giddy schoolgirl and it was tearing on his nerves – not that he didn't have experience with grown women behaving like schoolgirls in his presence. He even had some interaction with a grown woman actually dressing like a schoolgirl to boast about. Usually he was the stern school-master on those days, frowning and glaring, admonishing and dishing out detentions for bad behaviour – and perhaps even a little spanking if said grown woman liked it.

But equally usually those partners in his little role-plays looked a bit better than "his" Bella. God, he had rarely seen a woman with a more inappropriate name. She was everything but a belle. His long experience however suited him just fine these days. He knew what to say and how to behave around her, and slowly she came to trust him more. Now he stopped halfway towards the bed and flattered her with his adoring look.

"You're awake?" He purred.

"Yes, I was waiting for you." There was a little pout in her look. He couldn't have that.

"I wanted to pamper you a bit after last night." He raised a single eyebrow in a suggestive manner. "You were a real tigress again, my little minx."

"I suppose." She looked confused for a moment but apparently believed him. Luckily – and with a little help from Healer Smythers, the old dragon, he had been able to get her drunk and spent the night alone. "Bella" however didn't have to know this.

He sighed with open adoration on his face. "You may be in your forties, dear, but you still have the energy of women half your age."

For a moment Bella basked in the flattery. As far as Henry knew she was strongly approaching her sixtieth birthday. It was a tad overdone but he had learned that Bella accepted more or less any degree of gushing praise. Then her expression darkened: "and how do you know about the energy of younger women?"

"You were with my brother, Bella. I had to find ways to forget my desire. Not that I was successful in the end." The completely fictional story about him and his "brother Rodolphus" easily passed his lips. Instantly her face brightened up again and she actually patted on the mattress at her side.

"Come here, my little Rasty."

"I thought you would never ask," Henry responded, removing from his face any sign of the disgust he felt.

.

"Not. A. Single. Word." Henry growled towards Smythers an hour later. The devil-healer-from-hell simply shrugged but did nothing to hide her smirk. Sometimes he hated her – not as much as Bella, but still. Luckily he was used to convince himself of his supposed feelings. It had been a difficult but necessary lesson, one that had saved him from many difficult moments were an instinctive reaction – like flinching back from "the object of his desire" – would have been a disaster.

"Any plans for later?" Smythers asked, hoping for some saucy and embarrassing details.

"Actually yes," now it was time for Henry to smirk. "Bella and I will make a little excursion." He rolled his eyes shortly and sighed. "I promised her a date and she agreed to visit a park and an ice café or something."

"So you're making progress?"

"Yes, I do," Henry nodded. "I'll tell you about it tonight."

_If Bella allows me to slip away_, Henry mused with no small amount of trepidation. _I could really use a little rest from her. Damned woman!_

.

_**Hogwarts – Hospital Wing**_

.

"Everything is alright – for you and little Freya."

With heart-felt relief Minerva acknowledged Poppy's verdict. After the end of the trial and the healing of her wounds – carried out by a trio of Congregation healers especially invited by Agatha Pinegrew – she had stalled for a full day before allowing Poppy to examine her. She still couldn't believe it: she had gotten a second chance with her little angel. She had never expected this to happen, had neither planned nor hoped for this. Minerva only wanted to end the era of Albus' meddling, to give her little cubs and the whole society a chance to create their own future.

Albus had gotten such a opportunity after he defeated Grindelwald and again after the first war against Tom Riddle. But both times he hadn't used it. He allowed the society to continue just like before, with blood purism raising its ugly head again and again. This time it would be different. With the Pinegrews and the Longbottoms around, and the Congregation supporting Harry and his friends in their struggle, they had a real future waiting for them. She was not naïve. It still would be difficult. There still would be fights. However, they had a chance and she had no doubts that they would use it well.

This however, this very personal aspect, floored her still. Am I not…

"You're not too old to do this." Poppy growled. She knew exactly what kind of thoughts and doubts occupied Minerva's mind.

The Gryffindor witch smiled weakly. "But…"

"No buts," Poppy growled even deeper and firmer this time. "You'll make a wonderful mother. And you have more than enough friends to help you."

Poppy was right, Minerva knew. She didn't have to look very far to see those friends. Agatha would be there, Roxanne too. Augusta certainly hadn't lost her grip and Alice would be supportive as well. She had no doubt that Harry and Hermione would be like older siblings to her little angel. _And Sirius and the Twins childish uncles_, she thought with a little shudder.

"How far along am I?" She asked with a small voice.

"Sixteen, seventeen weeks I would say."

Minerva's eyes widened. "That's…"

"That's as far as you were last time," Poppy nodded, "before your accident." Her face darkened. She had been unhappy with the former headmaster since his Hogwarts trial a year ago, but this had increased tenfold with the trial of grievance. Like Minerva she had believed until then that Dumbledore would be incapable of stepping that low. Obviously she had been wrong.

Poppy gathered a few potions and a little book. "Read this, drink those – three times a day before each meal. Don't omit any of them. Eat fruits and light meals, irrespective of what your stomach tells you. I want you to take two walks a day, thirty minutes in the morning and a longer one in the afternoon – until the child fully settles in. Slow walks, Minerva. No heavy lifting. No exhaustion." Minerva wanted to object, tell her that she knew how to behave, but Poppy apparently didn't trust her in that regard.

"Paddoc." The house-elf immediately appeared like he had expected the call. "Paddoc, you'll stay close to Professor McGonagall. You know what to do?"

Paddoc nodded gravely. His eyes told Minerva that he wasn't willing to give her any slack about Poppy's orders. "Good," Poppy actually smiled. "I trust you, Paddoc. Don't disappoint me."

The expression she got in return would have made Snape proud.

"And Minerva," Poppy added as an afterthought. "Perhaps a little vacation would be in order."

Minerva wanted to object again, wanted to tell her that she had too much to do with only two weeks until school started again. Poppy narrowing her eyes stopped her however. Minerva sighed in the end: "I'll think about it."

"You do that..." Poppy growled. _Or I'll make some plans of my own_.

.

_**Somewhere in Middle England – 17**__**th**__** of August**_

.

Naturally a funeral was a solemn affair. It was tradition. It had to be like this. However the attendants weren't mourning as much as could be expected. Sirius Black even had a thoughtful smile on his lips. His girlfriend, the Spanish Auror Carmen, walked to his right sight, and – surprise, surprise – none else than old, grumpy house-elf Kreacher to his left.

They certainly would never be friends. Kreacher would never love and adore him like he did his late Master Regulus. However, he respected Sirius now, and the shared grief united them today. It certainly helped that Kreacher had learned to at least stay quiet about his opinion towards Muggleborns. Many hours around a new master, guests to care for, honest house-elf work and the companionship of other house-elves – mostly Ciddy, who was able to put him in his place, and Paddoc, who was a master of grumpiness himself – had done wonders to his mental sanity and changed him – at least a bit.

They were now somewhere in Middle England, where exactly Harry didn't know. He saw rolling hills, cosy groves and a purling brook surround the country estate. Sirius had explained before their departure from Potter Manor, where he still lived most of the time, that this had been the family seat of the Blacks a few centuries ago. They still used it from time to time and the mausoleum at the edge of the estate was the one where all Black were put to rest. His father had been buried here and his mother as well a decade later. Now Regulus Black would join his parents and ancestors in eternal peace. And all of this because of the loyalty of one house-elf who never wavered in his wish to fulfil the last order of his late master.

"It's a Cromwell era building," Daphne mused absentminded. "You see it in the pure lines of the entrance area. Simple and sturdy, none of the crinkum-crankum heavily used in the Elizabethan era."

Harry smiled. Daphne shared Hermione's quirk to utter all kind of historical or artistic tidbits when feeling uneasy or thoughtful. She noticed his expression and ask with a frown: "what?"

"You know I love you, right?" He wriggled an arm around her hip and gave her a one-armed hug. She blushed a bit but didn't say anything.

There weren't too many guests in attendance today. Apart from Sirius, Carmen, Kreacher, Harry and Daphne, only close family and friends had been invited. Naturally Remus and Tonks were present, as well as Ted Tonks. He had recovered from the fight long ago but he still looked very sad. Several times, Harry noticed, Ted looked like he expected Andromeda to be at his side. But she would never again be there... Naturally the last two of the few remaining Blacks were missing as well. It was still unknown where Narcissa and Bellatrix Black were in hiding. Not that he missed them. Actually, he missed Narcissa a bit as she had turned out to be a wonderful teacher and a good if reserved friend. But he certainly didn't miss Bella.

At the rear of the little gathering walked Draco, in place of his mother, with Astoria at his side, and a grave Severus Snape.

"I once was his friend," he had explained his presence in a surprisingly open way before closing up again. "I should have protected him in a better way."

_What a weird sight_, Harry concluded: two Marauders, the son of the third Marauder and the man that had been friend to his mother and nemesis of his father. Today they were united in their grief. Today they were comrades, nearly friends.

"We gathered here today to put a man to rest at last as he deserves it. Let me tell you about a man, struggling in his life, choosing the wrong path once but fighting his way back to honour. Let me tell you about the life and death of Regulus Black, my brother…"

.

_**Hogwarts – Office of Minerva McGonagall – same time**_

.

_**Neville**_

While Harry and Daphne attended the funeral, more to give Sirius moral support than anything else – not that Harry didn't appreciate what Regulus had done in the past – Neville and Hermione tried to take care of Minerva McGonagall. Regretfully the emphasis had to be on "trying" because she wanted none of it. She barely allowed Neville to organize the schedules for the coming year using multiplying spells on them, while Hermicat watched her through narrowed eyes, Balou and Crookshanks at her sides.

Hermione really wished Minerva would take a break from time to time. She couldn't assume her tabby cat form for now, the transformation being too dangerous for the child, but a little walk from time to time would have been nice. Yes, Minerva tried to obey Poppy's directives but again the emphasis was on "trying".

"There is still so much to do," she whispered from time to time.

Neville had doubts about that, but assumed that it was more to distract herself. Or it was similar to Hermione's urge to learn until the last hour for an exam, fearing against all reason that she would utterly fail otherwise. He didn't need to use Daphne's empathy on Minerva to notice that she was – while feeling giddy and happy about the change – incredible anxious about anything going wrong and the idea of losing her little angel for the second time.

_She'll be working herself into the ground if she continues like this_. He had no intention to watch this any longer. Something had to be done. Hermicat was fuming inwardly because she couldn't do anything about it. He however…

"I forgot I had something to do," Neville interrupted Minerva in her working-fury. "I'll return in an hour if that's alright."

"Yes, yes," Minerva shooed him out of the door. Actually she was happy for him to leave. He was a fantastic helper – diligent and nearly as orderly as Hermione would have been – but he wasn't very restrained with his accusing stares. Hopefully he wouldn't tittle-tattle to Poppy.

An interruption would be most unwelcome.

.

_**Filius**_

Two floo calls, two short but heated conversations and the completing of two exemplars of a blank form with a little help from his grandma later, an intervention was put in place. Neville had actually needed only forty-two minutes before entering the Great Hall where Headmaster Flitwick had gathered with most members of the staff for lunch. Even Minerva was there, if only because Paddoc appeared in her office with stern orders from Poppy. As Neville entered the Great Hall he immediately got their attention, both because there weren't many students around today but even more because he had Augusta Longbottom and Agatha Pinegrew in tow. Both widows didn't look happy but allowed Neville to lead the conversation. This had been his idea so he had the honours as well.

"Greetings, Lady Longbottom, Lady Pinegrew," Headmaster Flitwick greeted them, a bit anxious to hear what this was about. Both widows nodded curtly and Augusta gestured Neville to continue. He gave her a thankful smile, a gesture the stern lady returned. She felt a bit guilty that she hadn't been the one to come up with this idea.

"Headmaster Flitwick," Neville started. He had a document folder under his arm and a self-filling quill in his hand, while wearing his apprentice teacher robes, something he rarely did, especially while the summer break. "As a student of Hogwarts, a former member of House Gryffindor and hopefully future member of the staff," here he interrupted himself and smiled shyly like he wanted to say "_if you still want me after this little gig_", before he continued: "I have to tell you that I'm unhappy with your current performance as Hogwarts' Headmaster." There were a few raised eyes around and Neville was quite relieved that Professor Snape wasn't around. He had some ideas how the dreaded potions master would react to his little speech.

Filius Flitwick however looked troubled. He had known Neville long enough to realize that he had to be very concerned about something to make such a fuss. Having two members of the board of governors traipsing around, it was something official. "In what regard did I disappoint you, Mister Longbottom." He glanced towards Augusta and Agatha but both had only eyes for Neville. Augusta actually looked quite proud and Agatha angry with herself – and Filius.

"In the way you handle your staff," Neville reciprocated sincerely. "Especially how you handle the case of Professor McGonagall."

"Mister Longbottom…"

Minerva wanted to interject but Filius stopped her, raising his hand and shaking his head slightly. "What did I do wrong in this case?" He had an idea now of what this was about but like Augusta he thought that Neville had the right to explain himself.

"We all know about Professor McGonagall's delicate condition." Minerva harrumphed. _She certainly wasn't delicate. Never was, never would be_. Untroubled by her reaction, Neville continued. "I'm certain Madam Pomfrey had very detailed instructions about the desired lifestyle, eating arrangements and working schedule," he emphasized the last words, "of Professor McGonagall. I spent the last three days mostly around Professor McGonagall and she obeyed none of them. While she at least tried," he anticipated her interjection, "to eat healthily and make a few walks from time to time, she's working far too much. It's not a surprise really, for anybody who knows her," he got some agreeing nods from the round and a dire frown from Minerva, "but nonetheless something that we – especially you as her superior and friend – shouldn't ignore."

Minerva leaned back in her seat, her arms crossed and looked a bit like a pouting schoolgirl, not daring to look in Poppy's direction, who now shared Augusta's proud look.

"I assume you have a solution to this problem, Mister Longbottom," Filius asked with a knowing smile. Neville nodded gravely.

"And I assume these fine two ladies have something to do with your solution?"

Neville nodded again, opened his folder and put the pair of filled forms on the table. Barely trying to suppress his smile, Filius fetched and read them, his smile growing wider with every moment. He addressed Augusta and Agatha now. "Won't this cut across with your job at the board of governors?"

Augusta shook her head. "Only in cases with votes about the subject in question. We would have to stay neutral then. We asked the other Governors and with this being only a time-limited solution they have no objections."

"In this case," Filius accepted the quill offered by Neville and signed the forms. "I accept the help. Welcome, ladies, to the staff of Hogwarts."

.

_**Minerva**_

"I can't believe you did this." Minerva growled. She hurled another robe into her trunk and it was like fume was coming from her ears. "Forced holiday," she hissed. "I don't have time for such nonsense."

"You have now," Augusta retorted blandly. She had known beforehand that Minerva wouldn't handle this well but it was necessary. After Neville's little speech, Headmaster Flitwick had forced her to take a holiday to recover from the fight and to allow her baby to settle in. While away, Agatha would take over as transfiguration teacher. Between her Mastery in Transfiguration and Augusta teaching the younger years, it would be alright. It didn't mean that Minerva liked the whole idea though.

Now she turned towards Augusta and glared at her through narrowed eyes. Again it was Neville who broke the stalemate. Hermione was so proud of him right now. She really wished she could snog him senseless. "Stop this right now," Neville growled his bear-growl. Even Minerva had to admit that it was really impressive. "You need a bit time off. Minerva," he shocked her by using her first name, something he very rarely did despite her allowance, "this is about your health and little Freya."

Mentioning her daughter's name did much to deflate her anger. With a heavy sigh Minerva sat down. "You'll take this holiday," Neville continued more softly. "You'll relax, you'll recover, and you'll use the time to think about your future." She looked up a tad surprised. "I'm certain you haven't really sat down since all of this happened to think about what it will mean for you, how to handle it and everything. Take care of yourself for once. Take care of little Freya." He straightened himself up and squared his shoulders. "That's an order." He got some amused look, and after a while even Minerva smiled and nodded.

"Alright," she sighed. "But where will I go?"

"I have a solution for that," a voice interjected from the door. Harry had entered a few minutes ago, silently and unnoticed. Like Hermione he was very proud of what had become of his friend. "Have you ever heard of Hafnarfjördur?"

.

_**Pinegrew Manor**_

.

_**Daphne**_

"It was a really good idea," Daphne remarked softly, while continuing with stuffing her things into the bags. "Hafnarfjördur, I mean," she explained. "Matron Bryndis will take good care of her." Harry's fiancée smiled as she remembered their short stay in the colony of free hill-elves on Iceland.

Harry nodded. "Fresh air, baths in the volcanic water, long walks and good meals – I thought she could use that. And Matron Bryndis will take care of any bouts of work mania."

"She certainly will," Daphne grinned. "However, she'll need medical surveillance, don't you think."

"I organized something," Harry said, hiding his grin. Daphne frowned for a moment, puzzled what he could have…

"Healer Jannis?" She remembered the Greek Healer, specialised in the treatment of house-elves.

"Yeah," another nod. "He tripped over himself to get a chance at meeting hill-elves for an extended time. She'll be in good hands."

.

_**Harry**_

"I'm a tad sorry not to be here next term," Harry admitted a while later. He was sitting on Daphne's bed, Balou dozing in his lap and Daphne leaning against his shoulder, while Neville and Hermicat shared a cosy chair at the window.

"{Why?}" Hermicat wondered. "{I mean: your diligence at schoolwork certainly increased – especially around Ancient Runes – but I would have expected you'd enjoy a lengthy vacation with Daphne; disregarding the serious occasion.}"

"I do," Harry agreed. "But right now there are some teachers at Hogwarts I would like to experience."

"You mean Sirius," Neville guessed.

"Not only, but yes, Sirius is an important point," Harry admitted. "It's not every year that your godfather and prankster-paragon is allowed to harass Hogwarts with his presence."

"{I only hope Carmen will be able to keep him in check.}"

"You only fear for your beloved library," Harry teased herm earning him a little slap from Daphne.

"Be nice," she growled. "And Hermione rightfully fears for her books and the rest of the school. According to Minerva and Mum's tales, he was bad enough in his youth. Now, with him grown up…"

"{Physically grown up,}" Hermicat qualified the statement.

"Alright, alright," Harry raised his hands. "I surrender. Only more reason to be there." More serious he continued. "And I expect them to be a really good teacher duo."

To this the others could agree. Headmaster Flitwick had hired Sirius Black to be this year's DADA teacher with Carmen as his assistant. Daphne was certain that the Spanish Auror would break many hearts, perhaps even more so than Sirius. Still: they would be the best DADA teachers so far, perhaps even better than Remus, who had been a tad silly in the choice of his subject. I mean, really: Chinese water demons? How often do you meet those in your life?

"Agatha would have been an experience too," Harry added. Everybody nodded. While Augusta Longbottom agreed to teach the years one to four, Agatha would accept the classes five to seven because of her Mastery in Transfiguration. Neville was actually very thankful that he didn't have to face his stern grandma as teacher, irrespective of the progress their relation made over the past two years.

There would be other changes two, but not nearly as interesting for the quartet. The Centaurs had agreed to let Firenze teach a few Divination classes for a while. It was partly a kind of school experiment, partly an exercise in co-living. They had only allowed it because the relations between humans and Centaurs had improved since the dissolution of the colony of Acromantulas. It had done wonders to the security of all forest dwellers. There were even talks about a hand-to-hand combat class with a duo of Goblin teachers, but so far that hasn't been finalized. Caren Chentz would continue to teach Astronomy – now as the official teacher – while Petunia Evans and Emma Granger take over Caren's part in Physics/Sciences.

"I would have liked to help Mum," Daphne whispered. She really regretted that she wouldn't be there to support her Mum, if only morally, and to make certain that she got enough sleep and meals. Roxanne was nearly finished with her thesis in Charms, which should grant her not only her Master degree but also allow her to teach the NEWT classes, something Headmaster Flitwick still had to do for now. It was something combining Charms and Healing magic with Muggle technology to create completely new possibilities in the long-term observation of patients. More than a dozen countries had already expressed interest in her work, Italy, Greek and Spain already preparing the paperwork to put it into practical tests around New Year. Even Great Britain belonged to the impressive list – in the form of a cautious enquiry from the Board of St. Mungo's. It had been enough of a disgrace that the home country of the inventor had been more or less the last one to allow the use of her "Perspicientia Corporis" spell.

"Ciddy will be there," Harry assuaged her, "and Padma." There had been some talks between Daphne's friend and her Mum about Padma working as her Apprentice teacher after her NEWTs. It would free Roxanne to focus on her research, something she would love very much.

"Sometimes I wonder what we will do in two years," Neville remarked softly.

"Research magic," Harry guessed. "Breaking the boundaries of magic as it is known today."

"A Nobel Prize in Magic would be nice," Neville grinned.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Daphne and Hermione could take turns in getting them."

"No," Daphne stopped his enthusiasm. "Perhaps later we would get one, but for now there are others we can't compare to."

"{Your mother for example,}" Hermicat agreed. "{Last time she told me about her work…}"

"It made you feel small and like a fool, didn't it?" Daphne admitted with a grin. "Since father's… she really woke up this year. Sometimes I wonder what she could have accomplished without marrying him."

"I don't," Harry interjected and pulled her against his chest. "Without her marrying that git, she wouldn't have done her greatest deed – you."

"He's a bit sappy today, don't you think so?" Neville whisper-asked Hermicat. He got no response.

.

**A wee bit later at Hogwarts**

.

It was time to see Minerva McGonagall depart for her enforced holiday. She still was not a happy lioness, but neither Filius nor Agatha allowed her to procrastinate any further. When the quartet arrived, they ushered her out of her office. Low grumbling filled the corridors as they walked towards the exit, as did the pitter-patter of many feet. Harry was amused as he noticed the optical effect of the earth spell Neville had used on Minerva's baggage. Dozens of little feet had lifted the heavy trunks, allowing them to follow her through the castle.

"{I didn't know you read the Discworld novels, Neville,}" Hermicat mind-whispered, riding on his shoulder.

"{Discworld?}" Neville had no idea what Hermione was speaking about. It had been pure coincidence that the spell looked so alike the famous trunk of an equally famous other wizard.

"{A book series from Terry Pratchett,}" she explained.

"{We'll get you some of them,}" Harry promised. "{You'll like them.}"

As they left the castle and walked towards Hagrid's hut, Minerva's grumbling only increased and got whinier. In the end it was Hermione who snapped first. "{Stop it, Minerva,}" she growled, being surprised herself that her message so easily reached her favourite teacher. Perhaps Minerva's own cat-side helped with that. "{If I can leave Hogwarts for a while, so can you too.}"

This actually seemed to get through with Minerva and she stopped her grumbling. Minerva knew exactly how much Hermione would miss Hogwarts and the opportunity to further her education. "You're right," she admitted surprisingly softly. "Knowing you, it's probably not easy for you to decide against Hogwarts."

"{It isn't,}" Hermione confirmed, even her mental voice a tad sad. "{But there are things more important than education. I only needed a while to learn this fact.}"

The whole cavalcade came to a rumbling stop. Everybody turned towards Hermione and started to eye her suspiciously. It slowly made the little cat nervous. "{What? Do I have whipped cream on my nose or something?}"

Everybody grinned and Minerva expressed was they all were thinking: "who are you and what have you done with my favourite pupil?"

Harry however leant on Neville's shoulder in a theatrical way: "have you heard it, Neville? Other things are more important." He wiped away some invisible tears. "Our girls, they're growing up so fast." A slap on his head from Daphne and a scratching swipe from Hermicat's paw ended this silliness. _Boys_, Hermione and Daphne grumbled silently.

.

"And how will I get there?" Minerva asked. Her face brightened as she realized that this could pose a real problem. "I can't apparate in my condition and I'm not certain that flooing would be better. Perhaps I could…"

Her protest stopped immediately as Hagrid's hut came into view. Or better said: as the "guests" near Hagrid's hut became visible.

"Madame Maxime sends her greetings," Daphne explained the presence of the carriage complete with driver and eight Abraxan horses.

"Sometimes it's really helpful to have some connections," Harry added with a broad grin. Madam Maxime had been more than eager to lend a hand in getting a reluctant Minerva to her vacation spot. Healer Jannis was waiting at the carriage already, and what Minerva lacked in enthusiasm, he more than made up with an energy level equal to "Creevey-brothers/toddler-sugar-rush". He even tripped over his own feet while getting her baggage onto the carriage.

A dozen times Minerva said farewell to Filius, Hagrid and the others present, tried to give Agatha a few more tips how to conduct the teaching and in the end Harry and Neville more or less had to shove her onto her seat.

"Relax," Neville ordered in a steadfast manner. "Relax," he repeated sternly, locking eyes until Minerva showed a tiny smile and gave a faint nod. "I'll try."

A few moments later the Abraxan horses started to race over the grounds and leapt into the air. It was again an impressive sight. How could something this big and un-aerodynamic fly? It was like magic. Minerva's friends waved her farewell, and they waited until the carriage wasn't visible anymore, silently wishing her a good voyage and an even better holiday.

"She's really gone," Filius whispered. Until now he hadn't really believed that they would be able to convince Minerva.

"Yes, she is," Agatha clapped her hands. "And we have work to do."

.

_**Golden City – still 17**__**th**__** of August**_

.

Only a slight rustling was audible as Ophelia Nott slipped out of the bed. She looked back with a soft smile. Markus Flint had been a surprisingly gentle lover, not something you expected from seeing his hulking frame and usual moves that spoke more of power and strength than of agility and delicacy. The night had been meant as a sign of gratitude but also a test run for a possible long-termed liaison. So far she was content with the result – very content.

Donning a simple house dress, she grabbed the bag Markus had brought with him and slipped out of the room. She closed the door with barely a noise and barricaded it with a silence spell and a special locking spell that would allow only Markus to open it. While there were already rumours running around about her clandestine "meetings" with the young Slytherin, she didn't want to have Antonin Dolohov intrude into her rooms, something that could easily lead to a deadly confrontation – deadly for the young man she had started to like far more than expected and more than was healthy. As long as Dolohov didn't stumble over the young man in flagrante, he could continue the old pureblood play: don't look, don't hear. Certainly this would change at a later time, if he ever got his wishes and got her as his wife. But for now Ophelia was able to meet with Markus – as long as she kept it hidden.

Walking down the corridor, she nodded towards the sole Death Eater guarding that part of the hideout. Her destination was the sturdy door at the end of the corridor, reinforced with steel and with a cat flap. Without asking for allowance, Ophelia pushed back the heavy bar locking the door and opened it. She hated the idea of Alecto Carrow being kept like a caged animal, but she had to choose her battles wisely. The door let into a small flight of rooms. There was a medium-sized living room – simple furnished but still usable, complete with a couch, a book shelf and even a receiver for the Wireless. Adjacent to the main room there was a tiny bed room, an equally tiny bathroom and the most important addition: a small cell with padded walls and some heavy locks and bolts.

The last room was only meant for three days a month and Ophelia hoped that she could ease those days for the young woman with the content of the bag she now placed on the small table in front of Alecto. The young woman had gotten better over the last three weeks, Ophelia's care doing wonders to her physical and emotional health. She was still jumpy and had nightmares every night – with Ophelia trying to avoid dreamless sleep potions and their heavy risk of addiction. Now she was watching Ophelia eagerly.

"Is it…?"

"Yes," Ophelia nodded. "Markus got it through some contacts of him. You need to take it every day, starting on the twenty-first. It should make your transition easier, resulting in fewer scars as well."

The next full moon would be seven days after the twenty-first. This special variant of the Wolfsbane had added components to calm and relax the patient, making it easier to turn into a Werewolf. It wasn't widely used because of the heavy price – three times the price of the standard Wolfsbane which wasn't very cheap to begin with. But in Ophelia's mind Alecto was worth it. Perhaps it was some kind of Nightingale effect, but the young woman slowly turned into something like a younger sister for her. The weeks in Fenrir's "care" had curbed most of her vicious tendencies as did the addition of some Muggle psychotropic drugs to her meals. Ophelia intended to make Alecto visit a mind healer someday. Hopefully it would help her permanently. For now the potions and drugs had to do the job – that and the soothing impact her presence always had on the young troubled woman.

Suddenly she found herself embraced, Alecto clinging to her like a frightened child and tears seeping through her dress. "Thank you," the words were heart-rending. The last transformations had been horrible for the young woman who had formerly been so proud of her beauty. Even with the heavy use of Dittany and anti-scarring potions there wasn't much left of that. Ophelia had already thought about a visit to a Muggle cosmetic surgeon, but first they had to solve the problems at hand.

"Everything will be alright, dear," she soothed her, patting Alecto's back while holding her.

Luckily Alecto couldn't see her expression right now. Ophelia was very troubled about something she heard a few days ago. There had been a visitor from Fenrir Greyback. Not an unusual event in itself. One of the matters spoken about however was of an increased interest to her. She had been there by pure chance, sitting in a chair with her back to Antonin Dolohov and his guest. Ophelia had ignored them for a while and only listened up as the guest used Alecto's name. He said her name with a special undertone and Ophelia wondered if he had been one of those that had forced themselves on the witch under her care.

"_He wants her back," the guest had been growling._

"_I know," Dolohov hissed back. "I remember quite well what we agreed upon. He has to wait for now."_

"_How long?" _

"_Until the day after my marriage." _

"_See that she agrees soon. Fenrir isn't a patient man. He won't wait forever." _

Antonin had used the dreaded M-word. Ophelia knew of his plans. For now Dolohov was waiting, but he got more impatient with every week. She had until Christmas at most, perhaps even only till Halloween. She got sick simply thinking about it. With her brother agreeing to the marriage and even making a magical oath about it, there weren't many choices for her.

"Everything will be alright," she promised herself as much as the young woman believing her every word.

.

_**Lily-Evans-Remembrance-Library**_

.

"The wing with the books about the healing arts will be finished next month," Augusta explained while leading the quartet around. "We added a number of Spanish and French books last week and Spiritualist Nowles promised to have her collection of Latin and Greek works ready in a few days."

"That would be wonderful," Daphne sighed. She had been the one to start the department about the healing arts and she really wanted to see it progress further. Actually the copy of more than one book found its way into her own private collection and right now she was eying the bookshelves with undisguised longing.

"You'll get your opportunity," Harry whisper-promised. Actually he intended to search for some unusual books himself. Watching the success Scrimgeour had against Neville with his Polish spells, he wanted to try his hands on some foreign spell books as well.

The quartet had decided to spend the afternoon in the library to prepare for their vacation. Each of them still had a special library trunk with enough space for several hundred books, and every intent to use them well. The library, located on the former Malfoy property, was well-rounded in magical and Muggle topics since Professor Snape and Madam Sprout added their book list to the wealth of knowledge stored here. The Muggle novel department, started by none else than Narcissa Black, was well-used by purebloods these days. Roxanne Pinegrew and a few of her friends had started the trend and today it was "in" to read them. There were often discussions about this or that author being a wizard or at least squib, but Roxanne was simply happy to have them read something that had nothing to do with pureblood ideology. Wizards were more often found between the shelves with books about modern technology, often with the shining eyes of boys in a toy shop. One of the assistant librarians even started a working group that spent its time creating working replicas of moon rockets and all kind of hover vehicles. It was a roaring success so far.

Muggleborns on the other hand were equally interested in books about the magical society, its traditions and regulations. Marriage law was a topic of burning interest as was everything about the Wizengamot and how it worked. Since Hermione told "her own people" off – Muggleborn and Muggle-raised students of Hogwarts – about their lack of knowledge and often their lack of interest as well, and how it influenced the way purebloods saw them, the interest in learning those things had increased tenfold.

Augusta only hoped to see this continue. It had been her one serious point of critic regarding the girl and she had been proud to watch Hermione accept the critic, bow to the point made and watch her start to smooth it out. Today, while there were still differences between the behaviour of Hermione and Daphne, the gap wad noticeably smaller. She would be a fine Lady Longbottom one day, and Augusta had no doubt to see that day happen.

"Will you be able to continue your work here?" Harry wondered.

Since January, Augusta had restarted her work for the Lily-Evans-Fund and a big part of that had been the organization of the library. This could very well clash with her new duties at Hogwarts.

"Remus promised to help me with my work," Augusta answered the question. "He had already been working here for at least two days a week and now it will increase even more. From time to time he will continue to work with a few customers of his but it's mostly to keep their private libraries running. There are only a few new customers for the rest of the year. Next year it will be different. He told me about two enquiries from possible customers in Denmark, but hopefully by then Minerva will be back."

"We didn't want to make your job harder, Grandma."

Augusta placed her hand on Neville's shoulder. "You didn't. And you made me very proud with how you took care of Minerva."

Neville blushed as he heard Hermicat's mental confirmation.

.

_**Nottingham**_

.

"Careful, honey, don't slip on the stairs. There is a wet spot."

'Bella' giggled like a schoolgirl and clung more to Henry's arm than necessary, but he didn't complain. The whole day was an exercise in patience and meant to deepen the feelings his mistress had for him. They had spent the afternoon in Nottingham, going out a second time after their first 'walk-and-ice-cream' afternoon a few days ago. Both were dressed as Muggles – meaning to be good-looking but casual clothes for him and something hideous and colour-clashing for Bella. She got more than a few stares from the passers-bye, but after a little explanation from Henry – "they're staring because you're such an incredible sight" – she actually enjoyed it, while those stares helped him keeping a smile on his face. After seeing an older picture of her, he actually felt that it was an improvement. I mean: pink cardigan, really?

After some hours walking around, buying Bella a few more clothes and some nice knickknacks – most of them equally hideous and tacky but she loved them – the decided to make a little stop at the local pub before visiting Nottingham Castle. Even among witches the story of Robin Hood was well-known, and Henry had a faint suspicion that Bella imagined to play Maid Marian for a while. So they had entered "_Ye Olde Trip To Jerusalem"_ at the Brewhouse Yard below the Castle. Allegedly it was the oldest pub in England, complete with brew-house museum and all. To their disappointment the pub was heavily crowded, most of the customers wearing a red cap with their first name on their head.

'Bella' pouted for a moment, before she detected a single empty chair. It was an older one and didn't look very comfortable, but at least it was empty. Just as she moved to sit down, an older voice stopped her. "I wouldn't do that, M'lady. The chair is a little dangerous to the younger ladies such as you."

Bella's frown turned into a giggling smile, while Henry fought hard to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. Only an 80-year old crook would call Bella a young lady. Only Bella would take such a statement serious. Now she examined the chair closely and tried to guess what was so special about it. The speaker, an old man that looked like he spent most of his last twenty years in this pub destroying their beer stock, bent forward to whisper in a conspiratorial manner: "if such a young beauty like you sits down on this chair, they're sure to get pregnant very soon."

Her whole face lightened up. She turned around to Henry and blushed deeply. Her giggle nearly prompted him to vomit on her hideous shoes, the urge increasing as she actually rushed to sit down on the chair. She looked quite proud and swayed her… err… prominent derriere aka fat arse back and forth on the chair like trying to rub the "pregnancy magic" deeper into her skin.

Henry looked a little green now, and the old crook grinned a toothy grin: "I have you warned."

.

Henry still was a little green around the nose when they left the pub a wee bit later, and his smile was a little forced. He had recovered enough to make some sweet compliments about Bella's gracefulness and youthful spring, as they climbed the stairs to Nottingham Castle. She was actually a bit out of breath and happy to have a look around from time to time, enjoying the sight-seeing as well as the "jealous stares" of other women.

_God, let me endure this ordeal_, he whispered silently while smiling sugar-sweetly. _I'll visit 99 churches all over England if you help me to survive this bitch_. He had no idea how near salvation he was right now.

Suddenly the giggling monster at his side stopped to giggle. She actually stopped walking as well. Henry wondered what the reason was of her staring at… he followed her eyes and noticed a young couple; actually it seemed to be mother and son only they hadn't much in common appearance-wise. She was quite tall and had a face that reminded him of a horse, certainly not very attractive but not ugly either. She wore simple but fitting clothes that did much to hide the bony aspects of her body. And certainly they were better in the colour department than anything Bella usually wore. The boy or perhaps young man at her side was equally tall but far sturdier built. He was a little on the overweight side but his baggy clothes told of the stones he apparently lost in the last weeks and months. All in all they didn't look so special that Bella's interest was reasonable and they apparently hadn't noticed her so far.

"Bella?" He whisper-asked. She only made a shooing gesture. Her eyes narrowed. He knew that look, had seen it in the first days all too often. It was a look that promised danger if you didn't behave very careful. Because of this he kept silent and watched only. Slowly a smile crept onto her face. It was a cruel smile, a smile he didn't like one bit.

"Here we meet again, my little squib," she hissed. Bella grabbed Henry's arm and dragged him after their unknown pair. "Let's go," she uttered with a malicious grin on her face. "Time to play."

.

_**A/N**_

_I nearly forgot dear Bella/Dolores. It's time to end that part, I think. _

_This week there were a few preparations left that had to be done. Next time we're really going to Prague. _


	17. Chapter 17 The search begins

_**A/N**_

_I'll use a number of Vampires mentioned in the one-shot "and the winner is". If you haven't read it so far, you should perhaps do it to get a feeling of those characters._

**.**

**The search begins**

.

_**Somewhere in Central Africa – 18**__**th**__** of August**_

.

As Brychan Camwy left the aeroplane, the damp heat hit him like a brick on the head. With no DMLE in this part of the world, no Ministry of Magic having more than an illusory grip on this land, they had to use a simple Muggle aeroplane for the last part of the trip. It wasn't even a very comfortable one and the crew had claimed not to speak any English. There was nothing on board that could be called food, and the water – better not speak about it at all.

_I should have listened to Baptiste_, Brychan groaned inwardly. Baptiste Macôme was the leader of the French Aurors grouped to bolster the ranks of his British Auror team. He had warned Brychan about his transport route and chosen a different one. Now he was waiting over there, looking far better than Brychan, a smirk on his face.

"Not. A. Single. Word." Brychan growled.

Baptiste raised his hands in fake surrender. "Had a good trip?"

Without honouring Baptiste with an answer, Brychan gestured for his men to follow and strutted away towards the Vampires waiting for him in the shadow of a neighbouring building.

"Everybody is prepared for the stay in the area?" Baptiste asked with a low voice.

Brychan nodded. He was thankful for the help. The French DMLE had more experience with activities in this part of the world and supported their British colleagues with a number of spells specially developed to survive in those conditions: Special long-lasting cooling charms, charms to weather the moisture – for man and clothes alike – and some strong insect-repelling charms had been on the agenda.

"They weren't happy about the vaccinations," Brychan smirked. Some of the Aurors even had to be ordered to endure the Muggle vaccinations against some of the more dangerous diseases they could encounter while staying in Africa. Despite all magic available, it simply was the safest way to protect them, and Brychan had no wish to have his men survive what obstacles their dangerous prey threw their way only to lose them to some tropical disease easily preventable.

"They'll be thankful later." Baptiste came to a stop in front of the trio of Vampires. Two of them were male and looked European; the last one was a dark-skinned African female beauty. "Madam Gasira, may I introduce to you: Brychan Camwy, leader of the British Auror team."

"Madam," Brychan bowed but refrained from giving her a kiss on the hand. Most Vampires didn't like the gesture as far as he knew.

"Gasira is enough," the lady responded with a voice that sent shudders down his spine. It was like looking a hunting cat in the eyes and he instantly had an idea of how dangerous this woman was.

"Paul and Rodrigo belong to the team of French… fellow countrymen… that are willing to help us."

Both men nodded curtly. They reminded Brychan strongly of Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, with Rodrigo being the dashing Casanova and Paul behaving more reserved and calm. It was easy to detect that both were rivals about Gasira's favour with Paul apparently in the lead. Brychan smelled a story behind those looks.

"You'll meet the rest tonight," Paul said with a soft voice, "and especially Hafsa too."

Brychan nodded. "I'm eager to meet her." And he really was. Without the help of the Arabic Vampire, none of them would be here. For a moment he wondered how Madam Guille felt about this. The French Vampire and Voldemort's ally had been the one to bring Hafsa into this mess in the first place. Now she had not only switched sides but was one of the greatest assets they had in this part of the world. A meeting between these two fine ladies would certainly be a sight to behold.

"Then let's go."

.

_**Somewhere in Prague – 18**__**th**__** of August late morning**_

.

"It's really beautiful."

Neville looked around, taking in the wonderful sight with wide eyes. The quartet had arrived in Prague, or Praha as it was called as well, after a lengthy and complicated journey, leading them from England via Spain to France, where Fleur's mother had been waiting for them. With a portkey, fabricated by a still cowed Monsieur Delacour, they made their last leg of the trip and got to this beatific vision of a baroque dream mansion. It was located a tad outside of the city centre, with a ten-foot wall protecting them against random observers. From the main house a garden stretched all around, with a small pond inviting for a cosy break and a dozen century-oaks providing shade. There was a small Pavillion as well and an old carriage house, now used as a garage.

The main house itself was big enough that they would barely use half of it but not so large that they would get lost on their way from the bedrooms to the dining room. Harry noticed a modern satellite dish and Appoline Delacour had mentioned a telephone connection and even internet. Apparently the Mazurs were very different to English purebloods in their eagerness to integrate Muggle technology into their daily life.

The Mazurs – proprietors of the whole estate – had instantly been willing to help a friend of the Delacours. Grazyna Mazur, granddaughter of patriarch Kacper Mazur, was waiting for them at the entrance. While the Mazurs had mostly been living in Poland for centuries, they possessed a large number of estates all over Eastern Europe. Their mansions in Prague and Budapest had often been used by the younger family members for a little vacation or to escape the infamous rage attacks of their elders. Now this mansion would see some British guests for a while.

"Welcome to Prague," she greeted them. Only Daphne immediately reacted, Harry following a moment later. Neville was far too interested in the garden to notice her immediately, and blushed as he realized that he was being rudely ignoring her. Grazyna however actually thought him to be quite cute and found herself impressed for both boys to be far more interested in the estate – both house and garden – than in ogling her. Far too often young men such as them had only eyes for her "Veela assets" and enraged their girlfriends by drooling all over Grazyna. _Fleur had been right about them_, she mused_. They're really smitten with their girls_.

Luckily she had been forewarned about Hermione's special "condition" and so didn't wonder about the triplet of cats that was accompanying her trio of guests. All three teenagers looked like themselves right now as did their cats, but Grazyna had been informed of their cover identities as well. She had to know, like the servants working at the mansion, else it could cause unnecessary problems should they return from a trip looking quite different. Each of the teenagers wore a simple silvery ring and each of the cats had a quite normal looking leather band around its neck with a typical Muggle identification coin attached to it. Only careful examination would disclose the real intent of this "jewellery": anchors to strong Goblin magic, allowing them to assume a different appearance should they need to hide their real faces – or furs.

_Especially that orange monster_, Grazyna mused while watching Crookshanks with a soft smile_, was far too easily recognizable_.

"Please follow me," Grazyna invited them. "I'll show you your rooms. And perhaps a little tour around the house would be in order. Let's go."

.

_**A wee bit later**_

They had gathered in Neville's room after a lengthy tour all around the house. Grazyna had introduced them to the servant crew of the estate – an elderly squib couple and a quintet of overeager house-elves under the thumb of an old male that made Kreacher and Paddoc paragons of humour – and shown a number of interesting rooms. There was a small library, not too extended because the mansion was meant for vacation and not as a family seat. There were however quite a few maps of Prague, tourist guides and language guides – both Muggle and Magical. Harry had already thought about using the time in Prague to learn the basics of Czech and hoped that Daphne would help him with the matter, her language talent far stronger than his.

Another room of interest was arranged around a pair of computers. There was a big-screen TV as well and some electronic games. The whole room had been warded against magic and was cleaned only the Muggle way. Harry and Neville intended to make heavy use of that room later.

Now however, they made use of Neville's slightly transformed room. Grazyna hadn't complained as Neville turned his four-poster bed into a sleeping area more fitting to a four-hundred pound Tibetan moon bear. He was now resting there in his Animagus form, a trio of cat lazily resting on his broad back, while Harry and Daphne occupied a cosy looking divan. Grazyna had chosen an uncomfortable looking wooden chair of all places to sit down. She was sitting there with a straight back and her "composure education" was shining through with every gesture. Daphne was no slouch in good behaviour – Grandma Agatha had seen to that – but Grazyna moved in a completely different league. _She's Veela royalty_, Daphne thought. _I wonder how her youth had been – certainly far more stringent than mine._

The windows offered a beautiful look onto Prague, the river Vltava and the renowned Vysehrad, one of the castles of the city. The Vysehrad contained the equally famous St.-Peter-and-Paul church, one of the places Daphne intended to visit. Harry was more interested in learning about the building where the Defenestration of Prague happened, if it still existed. Pushing useless Ministry lackeys out of the window was a dream he could certainly share.

"Thank you for allowing us to use this wonderful mansion," Daphne addressed Grazyna.

"Think nothing of it," Grazyna fended off. "See it as a little thank you for all the amusement you supplied." On Daphne quizzical look Grazyna simply explained: "Cormac McLaggen."

"Oh, yes," Harry and Neville grinned broadly. "How is he doing, the old bastard?"

"Fine," Grazyna nodded. "He's still learning how to behave. You know: like a little puppy, trying to push the edges. I assume he didn't think I meant my… my speech of introduction verbatim. He was wrong. Six weeks later and after a couple of training sessions with my friends, he's adapting."

With a swish of her wand she used a little phantasm charm to create a picture of Henryka Krol and Natia Zajac, towering like bookends over a slightly frightened looking Cormac McLaggen. They reminded Harry of Crabbe if Goyle – if there weren't obvious intelligence in their eyes that Draco's former henchmen lacked.

"I see he's enjoying himself," Neville smirked, "still the charmer, always with the ladies."

"Yes, Henryka and Natia are enjoying his company and will for a while, I assume," Grazyna nodded. "At least he appears to be trainable. Better than a few other students we got from Durmstrang last year. They had to leave their old school after the changes that followed Headmaster Karkaroff's… departure."

Harry and his friends nodded. There had been some rumours about the changes Durmstrang had undergone, following Voldy's return and Karkaroff's disappearance. Some of those changes had been for the better, others for the worse. Durmstrang was still no school that would welcome someone like Hermione; but at least they made a show of being less dark.

"What are your plans?" Grazyna changed the topic. Appoline Delacour had promised that the girl was trustworthy – unlike her grandfather Kacper who was far too much of a politician. Her help could be very useful, both because of her knowledge of the place as her local contacts.

"Tomorrow will celebrate Daphne's her sixteenth birthday," Harry explained, getting a look of surprise from Daphne as he continued, "I've planned a little something for her. Afterwards we'll start to search the city. Regretfully it will mostly be me running around, trying to 'get a feeling' of the place. We hope that I will be able to sense the object. Additionally we'll try to find hints about Dolohov's hideout. According to our knowledge more than a dozen Death Eaters accompanied him and they shouldn't be able to cover their tracks completely."

"As soon as Hermione is back to her usual self," Neville interjected, "we'll return to Hogwarts for a day or two. The four of us are needed for a ritual around there." Professor Snape had told them about his solution for the inner defence. Harry and Neville hadn't been happy, but Daphne convinced them that it was the best solution at hand. Nobody was willing to send somebody to their gruesome death – not even a convicted Death Eater. He was finishing his last preparations these days and had been convinced to be ready in a week at most. Hopefully Hermione would be ready as well.

"Tell me if I can be of any help," Grazyna offered.

"We'll do," Harry responded. "For starters we'll need a list of places to go: magical shopping places, apothecaries, and inns or taverns. Perhaps there is something like our Knockturn Alley: a darker place where the more dubious elements of your society dwell."

"I'll compile something," Grazyna promised. "I assume your rings will be able to cover you appropriately?"

"They will," Harry stated. "They offer three covers each: one our day-to-day tourist self, one cover meant for finer places and the last one of a more scrapped appearance." Harry had been a little overwhelmed as Ironsides offered the four rings and three collars. _Destruction would be acceptable – preferable together with the wearer – loss would not_. Harry was certain she meant every single word. Those rings were extremely valuable, each of them certainly the counter-value of this mansion. Without them their job would have been far more difficult. Now they had to make good use of them.

"Then I hope you'll enjoy your stay. Welcome to Prague – the Golden City."

.

_**Not too far away at the same time**_

.

Teniente Ruiz followed his boss through the simple yet spacey house they had acquired for their stay in Prague. Capitan Ana Hernandez and her hand-picked team of Spanish Aurors would stay in the city as long as Harry and his friends needed them.

"Do you want them observed?" He calmly asked his boss, guessing her answer correctly. As expected Ana shook her head. "Harry would notice. It would distract him and he wouldn't be pleased. We'll stay here, put some wards on Mazur Manor and use the time to prepare for the operation. I expect daily training, both physical and magical. We got some books about wards used both by British Death Eater scum and by Durmstrang absolvents. As far as our mission is concerned: Daphne promised me to inform us about the places they'll visit. She has a distress signal to contact us in an emergency, but mostly we'll wait for them to discover our target."

Ruiz bowed slightly and departed to organize the rest of the team. Aside from Ana and him it consisted of five other Aurors, each of them belonging to the elite of their department, especially trained as hit wizards or curse-breakers. Their job was to support Harry and his friends if the need arose. While only Harry would be able to find their destination, he wouldn't have to fight alone. Like Ana he thought the idea to send Harry into the fight on his own utterly ridiculous. He may be the chosen-one – Ruiz actually believed that after the events this spring – but mostly he was still a teenager. And no teenager should be forced to fight and kill, irrespective of how much the soon-to-be-dead person deserved it.

Ruiz silently admitted that he liked this assignment. Ana was a splendid superior, the city appeared very nice and interesting, and while the constant training could be a little dull in the long run, at least there wouldn't be the usual guard duty. It didn't hurt that they got special equipment and a 30 per cent rise of salary for the duration of this job. The prospect of getting to cross wands with Antonin Dolohov was only the icing on the cake. Far too many Aurors and other good men and women all over Europe had lost their health and life thanks to him. With a little luck they would put him down at last.

As far as Ana told him, only Daphne Pinegrew knew of their presence. It had been a non-negotiable condition of Roxanne and Sirius to allow this stay. He wondered how long she would be able to hide this dirty little secret from her fiancé. _He won't be happy, that for sure_.

For now however he had a job to do. Prepare and get ready.

.

_**Somewhere hidden in the Golden City**_

.

It was night again.

He was sleeping badly again – restless and with dreams plaguing his mind. Antonin hated this. The day after such a night he was regularly hassled with headache and stomachache, resulting in a bad mood and an even worse day for his men, as he usually took his anger out on them.

There it was again, the sky above him. There were stars and barely a quarter-moon. It was the same sky he could see by looking out of his own window – or at least similar enough. The sky was clearer today than it had been before. After the first few times, Antonin had tested out how to get the best result. The outcome had been surprising: he got the best sight of the sky if he reached out very early, even before the sun set in the evening. The sky in his dreams however was the opposite: dark with a sliver of morning redness. There was only one possible explanation: The sky of his dreams was visible from a place half-way across the world.

The corporal feeling of his dreams was still the same: annoyance, anger, but mostly helplessness. His Dark Lord – Antonin Dolohov had no doubt about the dreams being sent by the Dark Lord – was unable to move. But why? Why for all these weeks? If they didn't kill him, for whatever reasons they had, why not simply put him into a prison? Even Gellert Grindelwald was only a usual prisoner in the end, restrained to a single flight of rooms as far as he knew, but still able to move.

_They didn't kill him because of the Horcruxes_, he mused. _They knew about them and simply wanted to have him out of the way while searching for them. They're certainly looking for me right now and Madam Guille sent news about that traitorous bitch combing through Africa for her._

Antonin thought this place to be safe for now. However, he had no idea how long this situation would last. It needed only a slight error, a single traitor, and they would get him. He had to get the Dark Lord back and free him before his luck run out. Antonin Dolohov was an ambitious man. He was, however, a clever man, too. A man able and willing to see not only his strengths but also his weaknesses and limitations. He knew he needed the Dark Lord at his side to fulfil his dreams. He couldn't be the sole leader of this operation, especially not now with too many strong comrades gone. While on the one hand he liked the fact that Malfoy, Snape and Bella were gone, he missed their strength too. Without the Dark Lord, the whole dark army would slowly dissolve and in the end there would be nothing left.

_I have to get him back_, Antonin decided. _And with the information from my dreams I should have the means. But first I need a competent astronomer_.

.

_**Somewhere in Central Africa – still 18**__**th**__** of August**_

.

The afternoon had been exhausting and crammed with information. The whole team had met and their leaders had been working on how to arrange the groups and where to send them.

There would be five standard teams, each composed of two British and one French Auror, one French Vampire and a local guide obeying Gasira's command. The main team would stay on-site under Brychan's command, with Towers and Brinks helping him as well as Baptiste Macôme. Among the Vampires Paul and Rodrigo would belong to the main team as would Richard Madsin, the ex-Crusader who towered over everybody else and had missed no opportunity to exchange glares with Hafsa.

Now Hafsa – Brychan was a powerful and experienced wizard and had developed a good sense of guessing the dangerousness of persons he met. Hafsa had immediately catapulted herself right on the top of that list and he had no qualms to admit that he feared to cross this woman. _It is good to have her on our side_, he mused.

Hafsa and Gasira would form a tiny seventh team, acting on their own and not willing to tell the others about their plans. _You wouldn't understand_, Gasira simply stated. _You wouldn't be able to keep up_, Hafsa added. Brychan accepted both statements without further enquiry.

Team One to Five would search for any clues about Madam Guille's hideout, their guides hopefully helpful, while Brychan and the main team waited for the right moment to arrive on the scene.

_At least we know for certain that the Horcrux is around here_, Brychan mused. _Now let's hope for the best... and that Harry's job will be easier_.

.

_**In the meantime – Hogwarts' dungeons**_

.

"Shit!"

Severus Snape cursed and glared at the body as it crumbled to the ground. It was like he was accusing the mangled body of doing this on its own accord, simply to spite him. More curses followed as he examined the unmoving 'something' that had been an animated 'something' a few minutes ago. It was the second Inferi that had been sacrificed to his control tests. Six others were left but he had to recheck his notes and look for slightest errors before he continued. He was only allowed one more error, as he would need five of them in a functional condition. They hadn't to be fast or strong and certainly not in prime or fighting condition. However, they had to be able to move and use at least one arm. Two of their brothers didn't even that minimum left. However, he was making progress and was quite certain that his plan would work as intended. He only had to be careful.

"I'd still prefer to use some Death Eater scum for the job," Sirius Black drawled from the back. Alastor Moody's grunt was confirmation enough.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. They still didn't grasp what those curses would mean for a living, breathing man – or his soul. However, he needed their help. Alastor Moody, while a first-class-prat, was especially experienced with all kind of dark magic. And Sirius Black, despite his youth rebellion, still belonged to the ancient, noble and dark house of Black. Dark magic belonged to his day to day life like porridge and butterbeer. The trio of men was united in their hate towards Voldy. That didn't mean they liked each other. There was barely enough trust for teamwork and hopefully they would finish the job before one of them lost his patience.

Severus would have preferred to have Narcissa at his side. Her company would have been far more enjoyable, and not only because a far more beautiful sight. But she wasn't around anymore. She was far away with her sister, far away in…

The location slipped his mind. This was the result of a special Occlumency technique, a technique Severus used to protect an important piece of information even from his own cognitive mind. If he really wanted to remember, he had to loosen some seals in his memory, something he didn't intend to do for a while. _Hopefully she is alright_.

Severus sighed and turned towards the third Inferi. "Next try," he grumbled.

_This one better works._

.

_**Somewhere over Iceland**_

.

"It's simply wonderful."

Minerva did her best to react with a deep scowl to Healer Jannis' exuberant statement. It was hard, however. He had been caring but not too coddling on the way there. Jannis apparently noticed she didn't want to get treated 'delicately' and did his best to leave her some space. However, he was such a friendly, polite and simply humane young man that it was difficult – nay, nearly impossible – to stay angry for long. Charms kept the cold winds away and only allowed a soft, fresh breeze to reach the compartment's interior. The sight had been wonderful the whole time and now it was simply grandiose. For the last few minutes they had crossed the air above Iceland and Jannis had pointed to some interesting landmark or other, telling stories about how they got their names and what happened there according to Muggle and magical stories.

Minerva had a hunch that Daphne and Harry had done their best to prepare the young man. The girl had told her about the dream date on New Year with bright eyes and a thoughtful smile: about the ride on Harry's back, the stars above and the dance. She wished the couple only the best, as she did for Hermione and Neville. Those two had changed nearly as much as Harry over the last two years and only for the better. Augusta was incredible proud of her grandson and rightly so. Sometimes she regretted that Neville wasn't a Gryffindor anymore but they had been right: if there ever had been a Hufflepuff around, it was him. This didn't mean he didn't have courage in spares. He only needed a reason to show it and certainly lacked in the infamous Gryffindor attitude to rush into situations without thinking. Hermione had been the catalyst for this change as had been Ana's discovery of Albus' meddling.

For a moment Minerva's eyes got teary as she thought about her former mentor. How could he do such things? She would never understand his reasoning. She was a chess master herself, but never would she confuse chess pieces and real persons like Albus did.

"Please stop," Jannis' concerned voice broke through her stream of memories. "We're approaching our destination and our hosts don't deserve teary eyes at our arrival."

Minerva nodded slowly and forced a smile on her face. It was a small one but it was a start. "Better?"

"Better."

.

_**Hafnarfjördur**_

.

Hafnarfjördur – settlement of the hill-elves of Iceland, the independent cousins of the far better-known house-elves: naturally she had heard of them before.

Minerva belonged to the small number of teachers with more than a modicum of contact with the house-elf population of Hogwarts. She had known Matron Mathilda for half a century, had even met her late husband William a number of times before his gruesome death at Riddle's hands. There had been stories about the free-minded cousins far too the North. Minerva had intended to visit them "one day". There never had been the time and now she was forced to comply.

"Welcome Minnie," the elderly hill-elf greeted her. Minerva blinked a few times, unused to get called like this. Only Mathilda… "I'm Matron Bryndis. Welcome to Hafnarfjördur." It wasn't the well-used friendliness of a concierge. These words were meant as the welcoming of a caring mother of the house greeting a new member of her home, making sure that she felt really welcome around here. There was not the slightest doubt that Matron Bryndis would do anything to take care of her and her little angel.

"These are Tomas and Hildur," she gestured towards a pair of elves. He was a younger specimen, exuberant and broadly grinning, while she was a tad older and looked grumpy like she expected Minerva to do something stupid any moment. "They'll take care of you. They'll stay around you for the whole time of your stay. They have orders to allow you to do whatever you want, only to intervene if it is something stupid, dangerous or both."

Minerva felt slightly annoyed for being handled like a child. Matron Bryndis noticed the feeling but only shrugged. "We're taking our duty very seriously. Freya's godmother was very clear with her wishes."

Minerva frowned for a moment. _Godmother? What godmother?_ Her eyes widened as she realized: _she's speaking about Gwrach y Rhibyn_. No wonder she's not taking any chances. Minerva would neither, as she had a healthy respect for the banshee. Still, there was something that troubled her. "She isn't the godmother really. It is a point undecided for now." She had some ideas whom to ask but she had to think thoroughly about it first.

Matron Bryndis accepted her statement with a small bow. "Hildur, Tomas – please show our guest their rooms. We'll meet later – for your welcoming meal and the examination."

Minerva threw her a quizzical look and got a surprising answer: "you didn't really expect we would trust a man's knowledge about pregnancy, did you? We have our own healers as well and my daughter is eager to meet you." She fetched a small letter from her pocket and searched for something. "A Mister… Neville… has been adamant: Freya Sophia's health has precedence over anything else." She read something in the letter and looked Minerva in the eye: "He seemed to be quite convinced that this would go along with your own feelings. Was he right?"

Minerva, feeling annoyance leave her heart like a dam had been broken, could only nod. "He was."

.

_**Nottingham**_

.

Henry Broden hated his life. He hated it completely, utterly and beyond all doubts. He remembered a scene he had read in a book a few years ago: _you have a liking for mousse au chocolate but you look like rice pudding_. It described a not very attractive looking man who was only interested in the most beautiful looking women, thinking him – quite falsely – to be a real Don Juan. In Henry's case it was quite the opposite: he had always been successful with the ladies because of his combination of good looks, manners and a suave charm. That he knew how to dress and had enough money to spoil his "favourite of the day" was a nice bonus. Yes, from time to time he had chosen to beguile a so-called "plain Jane", an ugly duckling that often turned into a swan after some days or weeks under his care. More often than not he had done it as a favour for a friend or to get some business contract.

Never before however had he chosen such a manic bowl of rice shit before. "Bella" was ugly, unathletic - and he happened to love what forty-year-old ladies were able to do in bed with three yoga sessions a week under their belt – and had a voice that made his ears bleed. She had no real education, certainly no manners and absolutely no taste – neither in clothes, colours or anything else. It hurt to spent time with her and still he had no chance to avoid it. Making her angry was far too dangerous. He happened to love something different as well: his body fully intact and without pain. Henry had learned very fast where the Cruciatus curse got its name.

For weeks he had been her prisoner now and today was no different. Actually it was worse. He was in the open, with hundreds of tourists, icemen and traffic wardens around him. Little children were fooling around and couples showing their affection. It didn't change a thing. His freedom only lasted as long as his wishes "coincidentally" harmonized with hers. Days ago he had decided that it was not only healthier but more pleasant as well to instantly react to "Bella's" wishes instead of fighting them. Fighting only meant pain first and orders later – magical orders; orders he was unable to resist and which often were far more unpleasant than the original wishes. Henry tried his best to comply, to play the happy lover-boy and to anticipate her every wish. He hated every moment of it and despite his façade of optimism around Healer Smythers, he had long stopped to believe that this would end soon – or lucky. Sooner or later he would mix it up and she would kill him.

So it was with very mixed feelings that he followed Bella through the side streets of Nottingham Castle, her eyes never leaving the incredible normal and boring looking duo walking in front of them. She was mumbling something, drool running down her chin and her eyes having a dangerous glint. The word "squib" was used several times. Henry had already learned that squibs were people born into magical families but without magical talent. Apparently they were often treated like imbeciles or lepers, feared to taint the blood line and bring dishonour and ridicule to the family name. As it seemed, magical purebloods weren't so different from bigoted non-magical families where "different" equalled to "bad" far too often. Now he wondered if this squib belonged to Bella's family – her real family not the imagined one. Perhaps the face had broken through her madness and she recognized the foreign woman.

"Bella" drew her wand and pointed it towards the woman. It was a bad sign that Henry immediately recognized the spell she used. He had been the target of a compulsion spell far too often. What got him surprised was the reaction of the woman – or mostly the lack of reaction. She continued to walk, stopped after a few steps and looked to her companion with confusion on her face. As nothing more happened, she shrugged and followed him.

_She must have imagined._

.

_**Far away in the Golden City**_

.

Harry was harshly aroused from his slumber. He had been lying on the couch with his head in Daphne's lap while she enjoyed a light novel for a change.

"What…?"

Harry narrowed his eyes and gestured her to stay silent. He appeared to be listening to something. Suddenly his eyes widened. Quickly he cast some spell and Daphne recognized that it was an examination spell, linked to some runes ward he had cast.

"Compulsion spell?" Daphne didn't know on what place or object Harry had carved the runes but recognized the result of his examination.

Harry simply nodded and cast another spell, this time invoking the Crane that was his Patronus. "Amelia, I need your help and fast…"

.

_**Nottingham continued**_

.

Bella hissed something unladylike but very appropriate for someone like her. She cast a second compulsion spell, this time targeting the boy. The result was a better one according to Bella's expression. The boy said something to the woman and gestured towards a side street. Without waiting for a response, he started to walk towards it, the woman calling something after him. He didn't listen, didn't stop and after a moment of hesitation the woman followed him – as did Bella and Henry, who had a bad feeling.

.

_**Ministry of Magic – Office of Amelia Bones**_

.

Amelia had just been speaking with Senior Auror Gawain Robards about some work that had to be done today as the appearance of a Crane Patronus startled them. Gawain Robards, while no political leader material, was a competent Auror and team leader. Unlike his former superior Rufus Scrimgeour, he was trustworthy and obeyed Amelia's orders without questions and complaining. He was no Shacklebolt and he certainly would never head the DMLE or Auror department, but with Kingsley gone to Africa she had to rely on him for the day-to-day affairs, and so far she hadn't regretted it.

"Amelia, I need your help and fast. Someone cast a compulsion charm on Aunt Petunia. I can't go to her fast enough. She's somewhere in Nottingham right now. The tracking charm linked to her wrist band is Duco ad materta."

"Shall I…?" Robards asked and Amelia was thankful for his immediate assistance. There was no hesitation, no "It's only a Squib" from him. While Robards still had traces of that pureblood superiority worldview, he was wise enough to accept that family of Harry Potter was important irrespective of blood and magical status.

"Get a couple of Aurors and go."

.

_**Nottingham continued**_

.

Petunia Evans was confused right now and more than a tad concerned. Dudley behaved oddly, walking into that unused shop and not listening to her calls. It was like… her eyes widened. It was like he was under a compulsion. But he should be protected like her. She instinctively grabbed her wrist band, the one created by Harry to protect her. Dudley had the same. However, thinking about it Petunia wasn't certain she had seen it on his wrist today.

She hurried after him into the shop. Dudley had stopped in the middle of it and looked as confused as she had felt a minute ago. Petunia reached for his shoulder as she heard someone entering behind her. She whirled around only to see…

"YOU!"

"Hello scum," Bella née Dolores Umbridge smiled with false humour. "Long time no see. Have you missed me?"

.

_**Nottingham Castle Apparition point**_

.

Gawain Robards and the trio of Aurors quickly transformed their robes into something more appropriate for the location. They had just arrived at the local apparition point, one of the many used by Aurors all over England. It was a good thing Brychan Camwy had enforced that each and every single Auror knew by heart those spells as well as the outlook of today Muggle clothing. There was no pink tutu anymore, no pale nightie combined with pants and certainly no multi-coloured robes. As the quartet appeared in the streets crowded with tourists, no one batted an eye.

Each and every of his men knew how Petunia and Dudley Evans looked. Not only were they the last living family members of the boy who lived, Petunia Evans was a Hogwarts teacher as well, and after a couple of threats towards her a year ago none else than Madam Ironsides had demanded in no friendly way that she expected the threats to be taken seriously. "Should something happen to her, I would be seriously displeased." You don't want to anger a woman such as her, especially if said woman was a Goblin, an incredible famous curse-breaker and the one in control of your vault. Only when the Voldy had been defeated, did they curb down the security around the Evans. Perhaps it had been too early.

"Duco ad materta," Robards whispered, hiding his wand in his sleeve. Immediately he had an impression where to look for his target and he jogged off, his team close behind. Hopefully it was only a false alarm.

.

_**Nottingham continued**_

.

Petunia Evans was certainly frightened. Every sane woman would be, finding herself face to face with Dolores Umbridge. She had got to know this vile bitch while her stay at Hogwarts, and heard many bad stories and had no doubt about their truthfulness. Petunia had rejoiced at hearing what happened to Umbridge as she tried Legilimency on poor Daphne, her joy only increasing as stories were published about her condition being permanent. The society – neither magical nor Muggle – didn't need such a crazy bitch around, influencing it for the worse.

Naturally she had heard about her escape – after killing one of the nurses. She had read about her vile acts since then, how she tried to force a little boy to kill his squib sister. Or there had been another one about Umbridge abducting a healer. There was a manhunt on the way and the security at Hogwarts had been increased, but never had she expected to actually meet her, especially not like this.

Petunia glanced to her son. Dudley still looked confused but seemed to recover slowly. Why only had he stopped wearing that wrist band? "What can I do for you, Madam Umbridge?" _Be polite to maniacs_, Petunia thought.

For a moment Dolores Umbridge looked confused. She shook her head. "No," she whispered more to herself, "Umbridge is wrong. I'm not… I'm Bellatrix LeStrange. This," she pointed towards the man accompanying her, a man that was foreign to Petunia, "is my brother-in-law Rastaban LeStrange." She threw him a sickly sweet smile that nearly made Petunia and Henry vomit on her ugly shoes.

"We should go, sweetheart," 'Rastaban' whispered. "It's not safe for you to be around here."

_This isn't Rastaban LeStrange_, Petunia mused. She had seen pictures of those Death Eaters that had escaped and was quite certain that this man – while having a faint similarity – wasn't the infamous surviving LeStrange brother. Now she felt a shudder as Umbridge caressed "Rastaban's" cheek with her wobbly hand.

"I can't go, sweety-pie." Bella caressed his chin a second time. Henry turned a bit green. "Don't be concerned, I have everything under control." _I seriously doubt that_, Henry thought. _I doubt that you have your own mind under control_.

Bella however turned around and hissed towards the woman: "you had no right to stay at Hogwarts, no right to taint our children with your ideas, your… presence. They should have killed you the moment you dared to step into those hallowed halls." She fumed now, drool running down her cheek, and the wand hand shaking in barely controlled fury.

Her stupid rant had a good side however: it gave Dudley time to recover. His head was now clear again, despite the last few minutes being a bit dreamy. He was scolding himself for his own stupidity. For months he had worn that runed wrist)band. For months he had been protected against something like this, only to find himself in such a situation after he got rid of it. After the death Eaters' defeat and Voldy's more or less death, he had been convinced that the danger was over. A few Death Eaters were still in hiding, but certainly they had better things to do than go after him. In a way he had been right. As far as he heard from harry, this Umbitch wasn't a Death Eater but only an incredible stupid and bigoted pureblood. Only her mental condition had Harry stopped from killing her after what she had done last Halloween. And now she was facing him and especially his mother. He was without the wrist-band, having exchanged it for a name bracelet he got from his girlfriend – a girlfriend he was still a bit afraid to introduce to his mother. This didn't mean he was defenseless.

"So this is your son." Bella's smile wasn't to Petunia's liking, not in the least. "He's a squib as well, isn't he?" Bella raised her wand, when neither Petunia nor Dudley answered, and bellowed: "answer me."

Dudley stepped forward, trying to position himself between his mother and this maniac. "Yes, I'm a squib. Leave my mother in peace."

Her smile turned sugar-sweetly before she whispered: "Crucio!" Dudley screamed in pain. He had no idea that he was lucky right now. With Umbridge being the weak witch she was, the Crucio was nothing like the one the real Bella would have put onto him. He certainly didn't feel lucky. Petunia tried to attack Umbridge to stop her from continuing the curse.

However, Henry immediately felt himself compelled to protect his mistress. It was one of the backup charms she had put on him, one he hadn't felt to kick so far. Flabbergasted he watched his own body move forward and grab Petunia's arms, pushing her back and away from his mistress. Petunia didn't like this one bit and didn't hesitate to show it quite clearly. Her arms pinned to her sides, she used her knee to make Henry's main job difficult to continue for a while. He turned very pale as the knee connected forcefully with his groin. With the man now a tad occupied with others thoughts, Petunia broke her arms away from his grip, grabbed his head and smashed her forehead into his face, breaking his nose in the process and nearly knocking him out. Petunia didn't notice her own pain or the blood running down from the laceration on her forehead. Instead she pushed Henry towards Umbridge, breaking her concentration and stopping the Cruciatus curse.

Dudley was cowering on the ground and needed a moment to recover, to at least realize that the pain was over. Dolores Umbridge growled angrily and pushed the groggy man aside. Pointing her wand towards Petunia, Umbridge spit "Imperio!" Henry barely made two steps before his wobbly legs gave away and he tumbled to the ground. His head smashed against something and he had barely time to think _"does she ever learn"_ before he passed out.

Apparently not. Dolores Umbridge needed medical help after her last Imperio victim. Now she tried it again, her mad mind already enjoying the imagination of having the squib killing her own son. Last time it had been a boy who fought the Imperio of, barely and only after some long and dangerous moments. This time her curse hit a grown woman, an enraged woman, and at least partially shielded from the curse through her rune bracelet. Petunia barely staggered before she overcome the curse, and got close enough to punch the woman. _I have to give her a few boxing lessons_, Dudley mused absent-mindedly as he staggered to get up again. The punch really could have been better. It certainly hurt and caused a small laceration on Umbridge's cheekbone, but it only made her angrier.

Dudley's eyes widened as Umbridge got rid of his mother by casting a point-black Reducto to her chest. Again someone was lucky. A Reducto from the real Bella, this pissed and this close, would have at least caved in the whole chest. Even so Petunia felt herself hurled back and knocked into the next wall. She felt and heard a number of ribs cracking and her head collided forcefully with the wall. She felt herself slipping into unconsciousness, her mind screaming to protect her son.

"MUM!" His own pain forgotten, Dudley jumped up and charged the toady woman.

"Avada Kedavra!" Umbridge grinned wickedly as the green ray raced towards the boy. He was barely ten feet away and big enough that he was hardly to miss. But miss she did. Incredibly agile for his broad and heavy frame, incredibly thankful for the endless hours of training with hundreds of punches and baseballs thrown at him in those sessions his trainer demanded from him to learn how dodge punches instead of stupidly soaking them up, Dudley escaped the deadly spell, but barely. He had no time to digest the fact that he had nearly died. Instead he continued to charge.

Umbridge blinked and lost a precious half-second before she uttered her next curse. "Crucio!" She was able to finish the spell, but unable to target it correctly as Dudley was now near enough to push her wand away. Instead of hitting him it only got to an old and empty cupboard, waiting to be filled by the next shopkeeper. His left hand closing around Umbridge's wrist, Dudley made her helpless long enough to forcefully put his ham-like fist into her ugly face. Instantly he followed up with a fist to her lower rib, making her gasp for air and doubling over. With a jerk he harshly turned her hand. Umbridge was the one to scream now as she felt her wrist snap and some of her sinews tear apart. Too feeble to keep hold of it, she lost her wand and it clattered to the ground.

"Nobody…

"Hurts…

"My…

"Mother…

"You…

"Ugly…

"Bitch!"

Every single word was accompanied by a small turn of her injured wrist and another punch into her face. The last two punches weren't greeted by her screams anymore. Dolores Umbridge had lost consciousness. The danger was over. Now he had to take care of his mother.

.

_**A couple of steps away**_

.

As the Aurors hurried towards the empty shop, they were greeted by some screams. The loudest had been a boy and Robards realized that someone was put under a Crucio curse. He speed up, rushed around the corner and nearly stumbled as he saw the well-known flash of a killing curse. Feeling bad and fearing that he was too late, that even capturing the culprit now wouldn't comfort the boy-who-won, he felt a smile creep onto his face as he heard the angry voice of a boy. So at least Potter's cousin still lived.

At last he came face to face with "the last man standing". Gawain Robards actually felt impressed as the boy didn't hesitate to step in front of his mother, willing to defend her even against the four men charging onto the scene. He put his wand down and raised the other hand in a gesture of _I'm no threat_. "Potter send us. We're Aurors."

Dudley relaxed a bit but adrenalin was still running high. "My mother needs a healer." Gawain followed him as he hurried at his mother's side. She appeared injured and unconscious but alive. Gawain barely noticed the other man and the weird woman lying around and ordered the field medic among his Aurors to take care of her, trusting his men to disarm the attackers.

"Sir," one of them called him slightly alarmed a moment later. "You should take a look at this one."

"What…" Gawain Robards had to admit: this one he hadn't expected to meet like this again. _Dolores Umbridge, what a joy,_ he grinned. _Madam Bones will be a happy witch tonight_.

.

_**Somewhere far away to the East**_

.

Was there a little smile on the stone face? Every scientist would tell you that a Terracotta figurine was unable to smile, that its face was devoid of any ability to change its expression. This however emitted a feeling of happiness.

Tom Riddle was a happy man right now. He had been able to send more and more of his dreams to Antonin Dolohov, had first felt his confusion, then realization. He was certain: it was only a question of time until he was found and freed again. It was difficult to stay patient but he was willing now.

And then there was Bella; sweet, loyal and talented Bella, vicious to a fault. She was there, at the edge of his mind. Something was blocking him from her, stopping him from reaching her like he did with Dolohov. He had the feeling however that this would soon change as well.

They would be together again – united.

Soon.

Very soon.

.

_**A/N**_

_I'm not certain about the proverb (the one about mousse au chocolate and rice pudding) but I think it was actually from the film "Shallow Hal" from 2001. There was a similar scene in a Columbo film. A man compared his mistress with mousse au chocolate and his wife with rice pudding. The wife heard it, btw, and killed him._

_Duco ad materta = I lead to the Aunt_


	18. Chapter 18 We are searching

**We are searching… round and round**

.

_**Early in the morning – 19**__**th**__** of August**_

.

"Wake up, honey." Harry bit his lower lip to suppress the snicker that wanted to escape.

"mmm," the mumbling was incomprehensible.

"Honey bunny. Piggy wiggy. Marzipan doll," Harry continued to whisper, his smile widening in anticipation.

"Grumble," the mumbling was a bit louder, a tad more awake and certainly a lot angrier now.

"Miss Pinegrew, if you don't get up this instant, you'll get a P on your Charms exam."

"What…?" The blanket flew aside and Daphne, now wide awake, was halfway out of the bed before she noticed Harry watching her. Her hair made a good impression of Hermione's wild mane and her shocked face was simply too cute. She turned angry very fast as Harry dared to laugh at her like a Hyena.

"This. Is. Not. Funny." She growled.

"Oh but it is," Harry grinned. The growl intensified, but before she had a chance to explode, he bent forward and kissed her. "Happy birthday, sweetheart." A second and third kiss followed; each one more intense and longer than the other. Feeling better and somewhat more relaxed now, Daphne still punched him. "You're a git."

"But I'm your git," Harry reminded her softly.

"Regretfully," Daphne grumbled, a small smile showing. She looked around as if searching for something. "Where are my presents?" She asked haughtily.

"Later," Harry responded. "First things first," he offered her a tray with her breakfast. There was some strong coffee, a plate with eggs, bacon and sausages, and a small cake with 16 tiny lit candles on it. "I had some trouble to find a cake big enough for all the candles."

"Have I told you already that you're a prat?"

"Something like that, yeah," Harry nodded gravely.

"Good," Daphne nodded happily and stabbed a sausage heartily. "And don't you forget it."

.

_**Somewhere in Central Africa – 19**__**th**__** of August**_

.

"I have no idea whom you are speaking about." The prat actually dared to grin, while the guide they got from Gasira to help them in their search left them out in the rain, showing far too openly that he didn't really care about the result of such action. Martin Scott, called Marty by his friends and only when they had something to drink first, fumed while trying to stay calm in the face of impertinence like this. It wouldn't help him in the least if he lost his self-control and showed his "conversation partner" how much his defiance annoyed him.

It wasn't the lack of eagerness to help per se, but the sheer amount of similar situations over the last hours. Wherever they got, wherever they turned – it was always the same: supposed informants who were either too frightened to help or who had obviously been paid to steer them off. It was aggravating. And the guide only offered help when asked and never without a sneer. Marty had to admit: he had been warned about this attitude by Madam Gasira herself. Still he had accepted the man, if only because he didn't want to appear weak in front of the beautiful leopard-lady. This was how he saw her: a beautiful, dangerous cat, walking alone, stalking through the high grass and preying on the weaker and the fools. He was far too old to develop a crush on first sight, but this was exactly what he had done. Now he had to live with his stupid decision – hopefully his men wouldn't pay the bill.

"You said something about that grocer-woman." The guide frowned for a moment; then he nodded curtly. "Lead the way to her shop." The man sighed as if Marty demanded something extremely exhaustive from him, but he obeyed.

_Hopefully the next visit will turn out more informative._

.

_**Not so far away – the same time**_

.

Madam Guille was an old-fashioned woman. She liked the 1880s, the Viennese Waltz, and gowns with many small buttons, frills and a bodice. She demanded culture, manners and knowledge about the finer things of life from her "stage-of-unlife" partners as well as from her underlings. This didn't stop her from using modern means to exert control over her little empire or to keep track of her enemies. Right now her "empire" encompassed an area of only a few thousand acres, her army no more than two dozen trustworthy men and around a hundred mercenaries.

Numbers however meant nothing to her. She didn't have to depend on men – mortal or immortal – to build an army. The location of her empire had been chosen wisely, allowing her to spring up an army within a few minutes, thanks to some necromantic ritual. And her spies mostly belonged to the endless number of ghosts "living" around here, as well as hundreds of birds and other animals. No, she had an iron grip on the land, far stronger than the idiots around the White Hag believed, or would have allowed had they known.

Because of this she knew exactly where the mixed teams were searching for her. Right now she bowed over a detailed and very modern map – one created with the help of a satellite that had crossed and charted the terrain only two years ago. None of the teams was close to her base and the reports had, so far, been reassuring. The people out there were far too afraid of her to be of real help to her enemies. Others had been paid to distract the teams or even tried to slow them down with tainted food and water. The White Hag may be feared. Gasira may be willing to help the Europeans. But Madam Guille was close and had proven more than once how she treated traitors and tale tattlers.

Still: sooner or later they would find someone willing – and able – to help them. Perhaps it would be better to take a more direct and offensive approach to the whole matter. She turned to her second-in-command, a broad-shouldered man who had long forgotten his real name and home country, but earned himself her trust, bearing proudly the many scars he got in her service.

"I want you to think about ways to decimate the teams. Perhaps we can get a straggler – a guide would be perfect. But be careful: I don't want any traces leading back to us."

"Swift and deadly," the man nodded gravely, earning him a cruel smile from his mistress.

"Yes," she agreed, "swift and deadly."

.

_**A wee bit later**_

.

_Was this the so-called trading post?_ Martin Scott scowled at the measly sight. _This was the hub of commerce and gathering for half a dozen little villages?_

A humourless smile crossed his face, as he tried to imagine what his mother - or a British health inspector - would have to say about this place. Grime, debris and endless insects were all over the place, covering streets and corners alike. The shop itself was barely what could be called broom-clean, but certainly nothing that would stand a serious inspection. It didn't seem to trouble the customers in the least. Martin felt many eyes resting on his little group as they walked towards the entrance. There were house-wives balancing water cans on their heads, a couple of men watching them far too closely for Martin's liking, and a dozen kids playing with something they certainly called toys – he would call it garbage.

"What can I do for you?"

The first sign that something was amiss was the greeting. It was in English, polite and accompanied by a not very honest looking smile. Certainly he could have explained this with the usual behaviour of a salesman eager to make a profit, equating these "tourists" with easy money. However, Marty had a feeling that this was not the case. Yes, Martin Scott mostly got the Auror job because of his family connections, but he had more than enough experience under his belt to develop a special sense about people. And this man's face screamed "I'm everything but a clerk". There was also a trio of young men sitting in the corner, drinking and playing cards. It would have been a normal sight if not for the weapons they carried. Two of them were watching the customers, while trying to blend in.

Marty looked around, seeing nobody that resembled the description he got from Madam Gasira. The owner of the shop, as far as Marty knew, was a trustworthy elderly woman, not interested in politics but rather in the welfare of her people. Aunt Yara, as she was called by the people around here, would never be rich, as she spent far too much of her meagre profit to support invalids, children and old people.

"Is Aunt Yara around ?" He asked, noticing the heightened attention he got from the trio of players as he mentioned the name.

"Sorry, not today," the salesman answered with no real regret in his voice. "She's visiting her sister." There was a small hesitation before the word sister. Marty frowned. This was disappointing. According to rumours, Madam Guille had established quite an organization around here, an organization that needed food and other day-to-day things. He had hoped to find one of the places her men went to acquire those things. However, as he asked the salesman, he got only shrugs. "Not that I noticed," was the unhelpful reply, accompanied by another false smile, "no new customers around here". Regretfully he wasn't allowed to use magic on the man. A little Legilimency or a compulsion charm would certainly have been helpful to get a more honest answer. That restraint however had been one of the conditions of the White Hag and Marty didn't intend to jeopardize the whole mission by disobeying. His own frustration was no excuse.

In a dark mood the little group went back to their car, only to find a slip of paper on the driver seat. Someone had ripped of a page from a book and scribbled something on it. The writing was scrawly and barely readable, the message however was clear: "Aunt Yara has been abducted. She's kept prisoner on a farm three miles to the East."

_Perhaps it was a trap, but he had to give it a try at least._

.

_**Still morning – not so early anymore**_

.

"Can I open my eyes now?"

"Nope!" Harry plopped the P.

"Now?" Daphne whined a mere dozen steps later.

"Soon." Harry gave her a one-arm hug, happy that she couldn't see his grin. Daphne was so cute when she pouted.

"Now?" Daphne felt very proud to have been patient for so long.

"Yes," Harry pulled the silk scarf away and Daphne looked around, blinking at the morning sun. It was 10 minutes to seven and a beautiful morning. She needed a few moments to realize where she was and opened her mouth to screech as she did. Luckily Harry had anticipated this and put a hand on her mouth. He gave her a mock glare and muttered: "what a lady-like behaviour… ?"

Daphne glared back but nodded. As Harry let got, she hugged him, before pulling back and punching his shoulder. "Git!"

"And this after everything I went through for you," he sighed in mock hurt. He watched her with a soft smile, as Daphne looked around taking in the sight around her. They were standing near the St.-Peter-and-Paul Church and had a wonderful sight of Prague below. The sun was still rising, and it looked like it would become a wonderful sunny day. Harry touched his wristwatch. "We have to go. It starts in ten minutes."

"Starts, what starts? Harry!" Daphne hurried after him as Harry walked towards the door. He pulled it open and invited her to enter. She complied and glared when he didn't answer his question, walking further into the church instead. He stopped however after a few steps and looked around in confusion. Harry looked left, then right, as if looking for something, before turning around with a deep frown.

"What?" Daphne asked. What had he expected to happen?

The door opened again and an elderly woman entered. She crossed herself, smiled friendly towards the young couple and continued on her way, only to be stopped by Harry. Daphne didn't understand what they were speaking about, as they were whispering, but after a while Harry waved for her to follow them, while offering the elderly woman his arm for support. She accepted it and patted Harry's arm in return, saying something in her own language. Daphne smiled. She didn't need to understand Czech to know that the woman was grateful of such a young man with manners, proving the race of gentlemen was not yet extinct. Her grandma would have behaved similarly.

The woman headed towards a side door and a minute later Daphne found herself in a side chapel of the main church. It was very nice if a tad too overflowed with gilded saints and various little pictures from the Holy Book. Around a dozen other people were waiting already; most of them elderly people as well, all looking local. Most of them shortly glanced towards the couple before nodding amiably. Daphne followed Harry and the elderly woman to her church pew and took a seat. Harry pushed a little song book into her hands, one he had obviously prepared just for this visit as it had English and Czech song texts in it.

"You wanted to see a church service," Harry said with a loving smile. "Did you not?"

"I did," Daphne sighed happily, and linked arms with him.

.

_**Golden City – same day**_

.

Ophelia Nott stared into her glass while slowly spinning it. The one-pint bottle of Ouzo on the table was half empty and Ophelia felt the warmth spreading through her body. The bottle had been a present from Markus, a present she decided to enjoy today. There were many things on her mind at this hour, things to decide, and things to ponder about. Some of them had to do with her fate, others not so.

"What do you know about the abduction of Professor Trelawney?"

Ophelia was proud that her voice didn't slur and she watched Markus' reaction closely. He was sitting across the small table, enjoying his own drink – something awful with all kind of herbs from the Alps mixed into the alcohol, the taste even more awful than the smell – and now only looking up from his own thoughts. Thoughts, Ophelia guessed, that had much to do with the last night and if and how he should continue the liaison – or stop the whole matter before it got out of hand.

"Forget it," he growled.

"Forget what?"

"What you're thinking about – that I'll leave you; that I would be better off without you."

"Perhaps you should," Ophelia sighed. She tried to refill her glass but Markus stopped her. Ophelia sighed and leaned back. "This has no real future. You should start looking for someone else. Younger, acceptable for your family, unbound…"

For a while Markus said nothing. Then he silently left his seat and for a moment Ophelia stopped to breath, fearing that he would actually go. Before tears had a chance to shoot into her eyes, Markus spoke softly: "For such an incredible woman you can be really daft sometimes."

Ophelia scowled and looked up to glare at him, only to feel herself lifted from her seat. Sometimes she forgot how strong Markus was. It was lingering under his soft caring touch but always there. Before she had a chance to complain, he pressed his lips forcefully on hers, dragging her body against his chest as if wanting to melt with her. His hands fondled her ass and she felt his arousal. Only when breathing started to become difficult, did he allow her to recover. Normally she would have slapped him for manhandling her like this, but there was such open lust and adoration in his eyes – she needed this right now.

"I have only one complaint about you," he mumbled.

Ophelia mockingly raised a single eyebrow and waited for him to continue, feeling far better now.

"No more Ouzo, the taste is horrible."

"And that from the man who stinks like he has been sleeping in a haystack," Ophelia teased back. "By the way: it was your present."

"Something I regret now," Markus growled. "Apparently I have to change that taste."

And so his lips and tongue did their best to accomplish exactly that.

.

The couple was lying on her bed, their naked bodies barely hidden by a sheet, their skins glistening with sweat. Ophelia's head was resting on his chest and her fingers were playing with his hair. She still doubted his sanity or at least his wisdom in choosing her, but she was happy about it. A few months ago she had seen something in the younger man and the time had proven her right.

"Fenrir," he said suddenly. Ophelia froze, but waited for him to continue. "It was Fenrir who organized the abduction. He was quite clever about it. Fenrir asked around among the younger Death Eaters, especially among those few that hadn't been in Slytherin. He found a 'Claw from my year. Apparently he had no qualms to betray his former housemate to the rabid dog. He told him everything: names, addresses, details about their families. Fenrir and a few of his men raided their homes. He abducted a few of their family members and killed the rest."

"To prove that he meant business?"

"Something like that," Markus nodded, his face stony. For a long time he had believed in pureblood superiority and a small part of him still did. He was a fervent believer of the statute of secrecy, and wanted a strict segregation of magical and non-magical world. However, while he certainly wasn't against physical violence, he had a strict sense of honour. Six months ago an attack on Potter and his friends would have been alright for him. Even one from the back would be okay, with him being no match for Potter. He was still a Slytherin after all, not some bull-rushing Gryffindor. But Potter had been the enemy. Petunia Evans wasn't. The seamstress that had been killed in Hogsmeade last spring wasn't. And certainly not the seven-year-old boy Fenrir slew out-of-hand in one of the 'Claw homes. Markus felt sick only thinking about it.

"What happened to those he abducted?"

Markus thought about it. "As far as I know there had been six. Three of them he exchanged for Trelawney. Two he wanted to sell to some Arabian slaver, but I'm not certain that the trade actually happened. The last one, I have no idea about. I only know it was a girl, about ten years old."

_That fits_, Ophelia mused. She had heard rumours about the matter, but had asked to verify the story.

"Why do you ask?" Markus wondered.

"Alecto told me something," Ophelia explained slowly. "Apparently, there have been some children and teenagers at the lair. Most of them belonged to Werewolf families. One however, a girl… she was separated from the rest."

"Has she been bitten?"

Ophelia shrugged. "Alecto didn't know. The girl wasn't around the others very often. But someone mentioned her being Fenrir's personal property."

"Perhaps it's the same girl."

"Yes, perhaps," Ophelia nodded slowly, thinking about what to do with that bit of information.

.

_**Somewhere in Central Africa – still 19**__**th**__** of August**_

.

Shaeffer pushed Marty out of the way and took the hit with barely a grunt. Martin Scott was quite certain that he would have fared worse with a couple of 9mm bullets to the chest. The French Vampire however was hardier than he looked by far. Now he moved forward with inhuman speed, gunning some old revolver while running straight into the crossfire. The weapon wouldn't have looked out of place in some Italo Western of the seventies but it still hit – and hurt. With awe Marty watched as Shaeffer dodged a salvo, took another one without losing his stride and put two of their opponents down with headshots.

_He's drawing their fire onto him to protect us_, Marty realized. He didn't like Vampires and he certainly didn't trust them, but perhaps he was wrong – at least about a few of them.

Marty and the second British Auror stayed more on the defence, while their French colleague supported Shaeffer's attack. He obviously had no qualms about using some very dark grey spells, burning down a small wooden shed with two attackers hiding in there or blasting away a parking car to vanquish the cover of another one. Their useless guide was somewhere, cowering in fear.

They had arrived a few minutes ago at the farm, only to be instantly attacked by at least a dozen mercenaries. Most of them seemed to be Muggles, with only two not very strong wizards among them and so far no Vampires. Glancing towards Shaeffer he realized that a couple of Vampires would have ended this battle very quickly and not for his team's advantage.

_I have to warn the other teams. Perhaps they'll get attacked as well._

There only remained a single question: was it only a trap or had the message been right about Aunt Yara's captivity?

.

_**Somewhere in Prague – 19**__**th**__** of August late morning**_

.

Her tail swished back and forth, while her slit eyes watched the prey with intense anticipation. Neville did nothing to suppress his grin. It was incredible cute to see Hermicat like this. She was so different from her usual controlled human self. He really regretted not to see her in her second year, after the polyjuice incident. He had asked Harry for a memory, but his friend had declined, his face a bit pale.

"_Oh no," he had muttered. "I like my family jewels intact, thank you very much. If I gave you that memory, Hermione would castrate me with a spoon."_

"_Why with a spoon?" Neville had asked, falling into the trap. _

"_Because it would hurt a lot more," Harry explained with a grin._

Neville had no doubt that Hermione would do the same to his person should he ever relinquish the memory of this moment to anybody.

So far they had spent the morning together with Harry and Daphne, celebrating her birthday with a big brunch picnic on the balcony of the manor overlooking the city. Daphne got all kind of presents, many sent in advance from her family. There were books of all kinds, a new special bag, created by Harry and Hermione weeks ago, Neville got her something about Air Magic. He expected Daphne to get a few presents more from Harry later, but Hermione and he wouldn't be around for that part. An hour ago the couple had departed to an unknown – to Daphne that is – location, taking with them one of Roxanne's presents for Daphne, a stunning evening gown, the reason for this equally undisclosed so far.

Since then he had been watching Hermicat as she was enjoying the garden together with Crooks and Balou. They were a formidable hunting trio and the house elves had to "refill" the mouse population several times already. _Hunting instinct is a strong instinct_, Neville mused_. Perhaps it will help her find her inner cat. I hope it will._

_And I also hope she doesn't start leaving dead mouse on my door step. _

.

_**Somewhere in Spain**_

.

"This is fantastic, Harry," Daphne looked around, wide eyes, her cheeks burning with excitement. Harry watched her with a smile. It was so cute to see her like this, alike a little girl in a candy shop. "We'll have to show this to Hermione." Harry agreed: their friend would like this as much as Daphne, if not more.

They had arrived in Spain two hours ago via a portkey Brychan single-handedly prepared to transport them to a medium-sized loft above Madrid. The loft was fantastic, but the sight was even more so. Daphne blushed after taking a look at the marvellous bed-chamber with half a dozen mirrors arranged around a king-sized bed with silken bedclothes. After changing into something more appropriate to the city and weather, they had finished a small tour of the _must sees_, such as the Palacio Real and the Almudena Cathedral. Both were magnificent and something you clearly had to see when going in Madrid, but Harry and Daphne both felt their current location to be far more to their liking.

"How do they call this place?" Daphne asked, for once being the one asking questions.

Harry grinned. He actually liked to be the tour guide. "This is called the Temple of Debod. It's an old Egyptian-Nubian temple. Originally it was located near the first Nile cataract around the village Debod – hence the name. There, they worshipped the deities Isis and Hor-pu… something."

"Hor-pa-chered," Daphne corrected him. "It was the child-version of Horus."

"Hey, I'm the guide around here," Harry mock growled.

Daphne blinked. "Sorry, please continue o' omniscient tour guide."

Harry looked haughty for a moment before his face split into a grin and relaxed once again. "As I tried to explain before being so rudely interrupted," he yelped as she punched him lightly, "Ptolemaios the 4th built the temple in the early second millennium before Christ…" He continued to speak about its history unto the days in 1970 when it had been shipped to Spain and rebuilt as Daphne hung on his every word. Arms linked, the couple looked like every other loving couple having a stroll. It was really nice to feel like a normal couple for a day, young and enamoured. She only hoped that they would have many more days like this awaiting them.

.

_**London – same day**_

.

"You wanted to speak with me?"

Amélie gestured towards the seat across her and Filius sat down, his feet dangling in the air. With a single look into his troubled eyes, it was clear that he was still reeling from the experience of watching his predecessor die at the hands of his friend Minerva. Two years, or even two months ago something like this would have been beyond his imagination, and now he only regretted that he hadn't perished at his wand. However, Filius had to admit that he would have probably lost such a duel. While being incredible angry towards Albus Dumbledore, he hadn't got the legitimate reasons to battle him like Augusta and Minerva possessed. The magic of the chamber of grievance wouldn't have supported his claims like they did with Minerva. Filius smiled shortly as he thought about his dear friend. In the end it was the best possible solution and he dearly hoped that everything would now proceed well with her little angel.

"Do you remember asking me to have a look at Albus' papers?"

Amélie nodded. "I do. I thought you were done with that when we caught him with Fawkes help."

"I did," Filius agreed, "more or less."

"More or less?" Amélie frowned.

"While looking for clues where he could be in hiding, I read parts of his correspondence. After the duel I remembered a few letters and searched for them. I thought they could be useful for you in your dealings with Scrimgeour."

Amélie accepted the letters with a thankful nod and started to skim them. Scrimgeour was a sore point, especially because he started to spread all kinds of rumours about Minister Fudge. He apparently was still trying to replace him, something she would like to prevent as the former dunderhead turned into an acceptable Minister this year – and one not too opposed to the necessary changes within society and bureaucracy that Scrimgeour would rather battle at every step. Her face started to lighten up as she found more and more proof of cooperation between Dumbledore and Scrimgeour. Apparently the duo had been exchanging letters for quite some time, with Scrimgeour disclosing all kinds of DMLE secrets in exchange for Dumbledore's promise for Amélie's office. This would ruin his reputation at the very least, perhaps even be enough for a little stay in Azkaban. It was time for some more research.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Filius. I will use it well."

.

_**Somewhere in Madrid**_

.

Daphne's screech filled the air and drew quite some indignant glares and giggles from the audience. "Harry James Potter-Pinegrew… you'll pay for this."

She stared down her wet clothes – freshly soaked thanks to a lawn sprinkler Harry had activated. For a moment Harry could easily picture little steam clouds coming from her ears. With another screech on her lips she started chasing him around in circles, Harry cackling madly and many observers all around laughing their ass off at the funny sight.

After their foray into Madrid's cultural beauties, Harry had decided that it was time for a little relaxation. He led Daphne through the city to a place he had read about: El Retiro. It was a beautiful park, used by many locals for recreation. There were cafés and icemen, magicians and jugglers, painters and puppet players. They already got a beautiful portrait of Daphne – water-proof, and safely stored away – and enjoyed a strong coffee and some local canapés. Now it was time, in Harry's opinion, to burn off those calories again.

He only forgot how clever Daphne could be – or how vindictive. While chasing him around, they got closer and closer to the small lake that belonged to the park. Little boats were on the water, holding families or couples enjoying the weather. Those nearer to the edge were mostly watching the couple now. Suddenly Daphne changed direction and charged Harry directly. He missed a step in his surprise and was alas too late in his attempt to dodge her. Feeling himself hit by her shoulder, he was propelled towards the water and barely able to get a hold on his girlfriend. Together they smashed into the water only to resurface a few seconds later, now both dripping wet but with broad grins on their faces. Their following kiss was neither appropriate for the audience nor the condition of their clothing.

"Need a helping hand, miss?" Someone harrumphed.

Daphne turned around, wildly blushing. There was a boat behind her with an elderly couple. The woman tried to hide her smile, while the man offered his hand to get her into the boat. He spoke English but with an accent. _Australian perhaps?_

"Thank you very much, Sir." She accepted the help and found herself in the boat, a towel in her hands and a cup of coffee waiting for her.

"And the young gentleman?" The elderly man asked with a little smirk.

"I don't know," Daphne pretended to have to think about it. She rolled her eyes at the sight of Harry's puppy eyes and pout. "Alright, alright, but only because he's drawing attention all around."

"And he's not the only one," the elderly man mumbled, earning him a little kick to the shin from his smirking wife.

A wee bit later the boat continued on its way, with Daphne in Harry's arms and the sun baking dry their clothes. Could this day turn better anyhow?

.

_**Somewhere in Prague**_

.

"They're enjoying their stay it seems." Neville told Hermione, looking up from the letter. Ciddy delivered the short message from Harry and Daphne a few minutes ago, disguised of course not to draw unwelcome attention. His friend had anticipated that Hermione would be eager to hear news despite the fact that Harry and Daphne had only been gone a couple of hours.

Hermicat looked up from her bowl of milk, glaring her cat-death-glare at Neville who dared to snicker, both because of her milk-tipped nose and the mental picture of Harry and Daphne dripping wet like freshly bathed poodles. "They went to the Temple of Debod." This got her attention and for a moment he felt her disappointment not to be there as well. Naturally Hermione knew about such an obscure place like the temple. "Harry promised to take you there one day, soon." Hermione mentally smiled at this. Other boys would have been jealous because of the close bond between Harry and Hermione, but the mind link prevented this for happening here. There were no doubts whatsoever about the nature of Hermione's feelings towards Harry – or her quite different ones towards Neville. With her being a cat those emotions had changed again a bit. They were more sensual now and Neville was curious how his girlfriend would behave after turning back into a human.

After spending a few hours in the garden, they had left the ground to walk around a bit. Naturally, without Harry's special "Horcrux-radar" they wouldn't find anything and Neville wasn't irresponsive enough to visit the darker magical places alone. But at least they could use this time to have a look at the city and enjoyed a fun afternoon for themselves, despite the thousands of tourists crowding the streets. They had visited the Charles Bridge, paying a street painter to create a coal picture of Hermicat – only to learn half an hour later that Harry and Daphne had done the same in Madrid. Now they were sitting in a street café in the middle of a smaller square, a wooden fence protecting the dozen tables. Balou had stayed at the manor, but Crooks was still there, keeping a wary eye on his mistress/co-cat. They intended to first have a look at the Jewish Quarter, a place Hermione wanted to visit again with Daphne next week.

Neville patted Hermicat's fur. Yes, life was beautiful. If only he had his girlfriend back. He really missed her kisses.

.

_**A wee bit later**_

The Jewish Quarter had been interesting; despite the masses of tourists pushing through the streets and the amused looks Neville and his two little companions draw. They still had two or three hours of daylight and Neville was pondering what to do next. He had to remember that Hermione had four tiny paws right now and wasn't meant to endlessly wander around. The aforementioned cat was walking a couple steps ahead, sniffing at flowers or glancing into niches while Crooks, the lazybones, rode on Neville's shoulder and nursed his feet.

Then it all happened very fast, too fast to react. They were passing by a house entrance when suddenly a shepherd dog jumped forward, snapping at Hermicat and barking loudly. Even Neville jumped at the sudden attack. How was Hermicat meant to feel about it, with the dog being ten times her size? She instantly recoiled, eyes wide open and fur ruffled. The dog followed her and continued to bark madly and snap at her.

"Hermione, he is…" _bound_.

It was too late and Hermione was probably unable to listen anyway. Her instincts told her to flee from danger. She turned tails and ran away, straight onto the street. Neville turned incredible pale as he noticed the lorry rushing down the street, straight towards the fleeing cat. He moved to follow her, all thoughts of magic driven out of his mind, despite knowing he would be far too late.

The lorry driver honked, more because of the stupid man moving towards the street than because of a silly cat. He actually braked but would come to a stop too late as well. Neville dashed a few steps more, not noticing that Crooks had left his shoulders and jumped the shepherd dog, clawing at him like mad to defend his mistress. _Faster, I have to be faster_. There was a big, black tyre, running straight towards the little cat. And then there was a flash of light a split-second before the tyre turned the little cat into a pool of mush.

Neville staggered wildly and broke into his knees, unable to cope with the sudden weight in his arms. Hermione was clinging to his neck and chest, having apparated in fear for her life, turning into her normal self in the process. She was shaking wildly and not realizing that she was neither a cat, nor in danger to be run over, any longer. Only as the lorry came to a stop and the driver started to shout at their stupidity – luckily he simply assumed that he somehow didn't notice the extremely bushy-haired girl and that the cat had been Crooks – did Hermione slowly understand the changes that happened, and realize she was once again a girl. The angry driver watched them open-mouthed as the young couple simply ignored him and celebrated the moment with a passionate kiss.

A small Kneazle watched them proudly while a shepherd dog cowered at the wall, trying to make himself smaller in case this little ball of claws and fury attacked him again. For a moment Crooks felt a little sad that his mistress wasn't a cat anymore, but somehow he knew that she would be one again in the near future. Her days as a cat weren't completely over, that was for sure.

.

_**Somewhere in Madrid **_

.

"You noticed that the house is closed, didn't you?" Daphne asked with a little smile. It was early evening and she just graciously accepted Harry's hand to leave the carriage. She wore a burgundy evening gown that left her shoulders free and accentuated her bust, together with some Potter family ruby jewellery. A Spanish hair stylist had visited them together with a make-up artist to prepare her for the evening. Her black hair was now rolling down her back in shiny curls and her eyes looked even brighter, her lips even more kissable than usual. She was a true Spanish lady tonight, not merely a teenager anymore. There had only been time for a little snack before they departed but Harry had promised there would be more to eat later on.

"I'll be waiting here in two hours," the carriage driver announced with a heavy accent. He looked stylish in his uniform and had tried to flirt with Daphne only to get a low, deep growl from Harry in return. The 30-minute-drive from the flat to this place had been more silent after that, the young couple enjoying the sight-seeing and the attention they gathered. Now they had reached their destination, the "Teatro Real" but, as Daphne noticed, a sign informed the public that the house was closed and would only open again in a few months. There were still some scaffolds on the outside, with most of the work apparently done but a few details left to be dealt with.

Harry simply offered Daphne his arm and walked her to the door, which opened just in time. Daphne startled for a moment and blinked at the sight, not because of the door opening but rather because of whom was holding it open: Teniente Ruíz, whom she thought to currently be in Prague with her aunt. She had no idea that her aunt Ana had given him the day off for this special event. Harry on the other hand had no idea that his message reached the Spanish Auror only a couple of houses away in Prague and not in Toledo.

"Hello Daphne, good evening Harry," he greeted them, leading them into the entrance hall. It was quite the sight and for a moment Daphne wondered how all of this would look once the restoration was complete. Then her eyes were drawn to the pair of men waiting for them. Daphne stopped and mimicked a gaping fish for a while, until a hidden smirking Harry dragged her forward.

"Buenas tardes, Marcelo," Harry greeted his pen pal with a small bow. The man at Marcelo's side raised a single eyebrow in wonder. There weren't many men around allowed to call Marcelo Gonzalez, former Cardinal of Toledo, by his first name – and certainly nobody this young.

"Hello Harry," Marcelo cheerfully greeted back, before nodding towards Daphne: "Lady Daphne, as beautiful as ever."

Daphne blushed, especially as she noticed the appreciative look of the second man. "If we only were ten years younger, Marcelo."

"Live the past ten years a second time? God, no," Marcelo raised his hands in surrender. "May I introduce you: Harry James Potter, Daphne Pinegrew – this is Luis Antonio Garcia Navarro. He is…"

"The musical director of the Teatro Real and the conductor of the," Daphne hesitated for a moment, all three men watching her with small smirks and raised eyebrows, "conductor of the… Orchesta Sinfonica de Madrid."

"I'm impressed," Luis Navarro bowed his head slightly.

"How did you know?" Harry wondered. Daphne was still able to surprise him every day.

"Your mother told me," Daphne answered haughtily.

"My mother?" Harry squeaked. He suddenly had a bad feeling.

"Yes, we spoke about significant musicians two weeks ago and…" She hesitated. "You didn't expect her interest in music only encompasses to teach you how to sing, did you?"

Harry sighed, promising himself to speak with his mother after his return. Her painting certainly had overheard his plans and mentioned Navarro on purpose. He nearly missed the next question.

"So, you sing as well?" Navarro asked.

"Yes," Daphne eagerly answered. "He has a wonderful voice, very unlike my own."

Harry paled immensely. _She had planned this_, his mind raced. _My damned mother planned this_.

Luis Navarro and Daphne didn't seem to notice his precarious condition and started to speak about music, vocal ranges and songs she liked.

"No…no…no…"

"Harry, pretty please," there they were again: the puppy eyes.

.

_**In the woods near Prague – early evening**_

.

_Why? Merlin, why did I allow her to convince me to do something this boundlessly stupid?_

Markus Flint knew exactly how Ophelia had been able to convince him. After hours spent in bed with her with the attractive, sensual, witch doing all kind of mind-blowing things to his body with her hands, mouth and other parts of her beautiful, sweat-glistening body, he would have said yes to any demand. Because of this he found himself in some unnamed and untamed forest not too far from Prague, with barely an hour of sunlight left, in search of…

_Werewolves_, he groaned. _I'm here and actually actively searching for a pack of werewolves. How stupid can a man be?_

It was a wonderful forest – alive, healthy, and a bit untamed. It was just the place for an evening stroll, your arm around your witch and looking out for a sweet place for a little… outdoor activity. Markus grinned a little dumbly as he thought of his witch, stopping cold suddenly. His witch? Since when was she "his" witch? Was she really? In the beginning Ophelia had certainly been the dominant part and she still wasn't a pushover. But she had changed over the course of the weeks. She was softer now, more compliant and… it was difficult to describe. She was more feminine now, seemed to get younger with every passing day. And she started to open up, told him about her dreams and wishes, how her family – first her father and now her brother – had stopped her from fulfilling them. Ophelia had a love-hate relationship with her brother and Markus wasn't certain how much more of his ill-planned schemes her sibling-love would survive.

_I will be there for her when the shit hits the fan, he promised. I'll protect you and…_

Markus paled. He was behaving like a lovesick teenager. He was thinking like a lovesick teenager. He was no teenager anymore but certainly was lovesick. When did his physical desire, mingled with a little crush, turned into so far more? He had no idea, couldn't remember when it happened, but the signs were conspicuous and undeniable. Now was only one question left: would he dare to act on his feelings?

Standing there, his feelings clear on his mind at last and a stupid smile on his lips, it was the moment something hit his head. There was no warning beforehand, no chance to dodge the attack.

There was only blackness and a voice.

"Don't kill him. She'll want to see him … first."

.

_**Somewhere in Madrid – later in the evening**_

.

"I hate you," Harry grumbled as he closed the door.

"No you don't…" Daphne returned his pout with a sweet smile.

Harry narrowed his eyes even more, his brows nearly connecting. "You made me sing."

Daphne responded with a bell-like laughter and hugged him. Harry continued to frown but didn't flinch back. "And it was wonderful."

Harry still pouted. He had planned the evening as the wonderful completion of the day, with them sitting in a loge, a bottle of red wine on a little table, Daphne snugged to his chest and both listening to the music. Cardinal Marcelo had been eager to help and organized the opportunity to listen to a rehearsal of the opera "La Bohème" from Giacomo Puccini. The music and theme of the opera was a bit gloomy for his taste, but he absolutely adored the "cloak aria" of Colline. More than once he had regretted not to have a bass voice as the part demanded.

Yes, the evening had been wonderful and the singer fantastic. He loved the music, the costumes, and the atmosphere. And then Daphne had restarted her "Harry, pretty-please" conundrum, with blinking eyes and the sweetest pout. In the end he had caved in.

"You made me sing onstage – with two dozen professional singers listening." Harry remembered mostly that he had nearly fainted standing there. Blood had been rushing in his ears and he barely comprehended what was happening around him.

"At least you had a wonderful singing partner." Daphne interjected. It had been an up-and-coming star of the ensemble, in her mid-twenties and gorgeous in her costume.

"Really?" Harry looked thoughtful. He couldn't remember her really, and it only made Daphne smile even more. Seeing him onstage, singing the love duet "O soave fanciulla" with that woman at his side but his eyes never leaving Daphne's face – it had melted her heart.

"You were wonderful," Daphne whispered. And he really had been. Even Maestro Navarro admitted that Harry had talent – not enough for a fantastic solo career perhaps, but certainly to join an opera choir or even get a minor part on his own.

"I was, wasn't I?" Harry's wry face turned into a happy one at last. His eyes wandered to her cute mouth and he felt the direst urge to kiss her – an urge he didn't fight very long. Only after enjoying the lip-and-tongue battle for a while, did he lean back a bit and recited: "he drank the sweet nectar of love from her lips."

If he expected some teary eyes for his effort, he was sorely disappointed. Daphne actually bit her lower lip to suppress a giggle. "What was that?"

"Romance?" Harry frowned. "You're expected to love a little romantic poetry."

"Harry," Daphne sighed, patting his cheek softly. "If this is your attempt at romantic poetry…"

"Yes?"

"Better stay with the singing." She watched his pout for a moment before she turned around, offering Harry the sight of her back. "Help me with the dress?" She asked sweetly, looking innocently over her shoulder.

Harry's eyes widened and he gulped. Glancing towards the table where the dinner was waiting, he asked: "shouldn't we…"

"It's under a stasis spell, isn't it?" Harry nodded weakly. "Then I would like to start with the …dessert." Harry nodded again, blinking. As he made no move, Daphne nudged him: "dress?"

Harry startled. Fumbling at first he started to unzip the dress. He stopped as he came across some silk – her bra. Continuing with the zip, more and more skin became visible before suddenly her dress started to rush down, leaving her standing in a pool of silk, only unmentionables still harbouring her body. And what kind of unmentionables they were. For the umpteenth time today, Harry felt the blood leave his head.

"Does your mum know that you wear this kind of… err… sweet things?" Harry felt a little stupid, the feeling increasing as Daphne whispered. "Must you really mention my mother in a situation like this?" Harry shook his head. "By the way: this is grandma's birthday present for me."

Harry eyes roamed her perfect body. "I love your grandma," he uttered, prompting her to giggle.

One foot after the other, Daphne stepped out of her dress and walked towards the door of the bedroom chamber. There she glanced over her shoulder, long eyelashes inviting him to follow: "are you coming?"

_I will._

_._

_**A/N**_

_Sorry, not smut. I'm bad at writing those scenes. And I wanted to leave it to your imagination how far they actually go in this night._

_A1993: thank you for the reminder. I completely forgot about the Ravenclaw hostages. They'll play a (very minor) part but be mentioned in the next chapters._

_I've been in Prague two years ago and my wife visited the mentioned church. It happened to her like I described it, with the mess being held in a side part and at seven in the morning (while I was still sleeping, being on vacation and all). _

_Yes, the sentence about the spoon is stolen from "Robin Hood" (the one with Kevin Costner). It's one of my favourite proverbs._

_Yes, Hermione isn't a cat anymore. The scene with the shepherd dog and the lorry is something I underwent myself when I was visiting Cologne at the age of around four. The lorry luckily stopped barely a yard in front of me while my mother had to watch the scene helplessly. _


	19. Chapter 19 One Death too many

**One death too many**

.

_**Somewhere in Africa – 20**__**th**__** of August**_

.

"I never thanked you."

Shaeffer looked up from his drink and stared Martin Scott in the eye, one eyebrow raised in a very Snape-like manner. Marty had no idea what a French Vampire would fancy to drink at a place like this – it didn't smell like blood – but he actually didn't want to know either. Deep down Shaeffer gave him the creeps, far more than the other French Vampires helping them with the exception of Hafsa, naturally. But he had saved his ass back there and possibly the whole team's as well. He didn't look any worse than before the encounter and luckily had even used the night-time to somehow repair his clothes with everybody else sleeping. A dozen holes in his shirt could have irritated any casual observer.

Shaeffer shrugged: "just doing my job..."

"Still I thank you," Marty reinforced. "You risked your… your life to save my team." Using the term Unlife was certainly bad manners around Vampires, wasn't it?

Shaeffer blinked once. "The risk was acceptable," he deadpanned. Marty, being the pureblood he was, had no idea that Shaeffer was just giving a very impressive embodiment of Seven of Nine. "I'm here to wage a war, a war that already claimed the existence of quite a few of my brothers. It will claim even more before all of this ends by Potter finishing off Riddle for good."

He seemed so awfully sure of their fate that Marty had to ask: "do you think that some of us will die?"

Shaeffer blinked only once again, his voice calm, steady, and neutral but still showing utter conviction. "Perhaps not from within this team, but there will be deaths. Richard expects an overall 40% casualty rate for this expedition. He is usually very accurate with this kind of precognitions." The expectation didn't seem to trouble him in the least.

Marty shuddered for a moment. Richard Madsin, leader of the French Vampires, looked and behaved so different from anything he had ever seen from his British "brethren". According to the rumours he had been a knight in the Albigensian Crusade and he certainly moved like such a knight. He had been appointed the military leader of the operation and certainly with reason. Marty's mind turned back to something different that Shaeffer just said. "But you expect Potter to win in the end?"

For the third time Shaeffer blinked. It was somehow a very disturbing motion. It didn't look natural. More like a golem that imitated a human gesture. "Baron Pascal believes in him."

"And you believe in Baron Pascal." It was half question, half statement.

"He never led us wrong," Shaeffer simply stated, the determination sending shudders down Marty's spine. "And he never will."

Eager to change the subject, Marty nodded towards the woman sleeping a couple steps away. "We can't bring her back to her home."

"No," Shaeffer agreed. "She would be dead within 24 hours. She already did her job and is of no use to Madam Guille anymore."

_Her job_, Marty sighed, _being our bait_. Regretfully, Shaeffer was right. Aunt Yara had completed her task, if unsuccessfully. Marty's team had survived and the old lady was alive. She had told them about those of Madam Guille's men she had met in the past; spoke about numbers and equipment, their purchases and how often they visited her. Even now they had only a raw guess of the army supporting her and where her base was located, but it was better than nothing.

Still: he had a bad feeling about this. Madam Guille wouldn't roll over and wait for the other shoe to drop. She would strike back. The only question was: when and where?

.

_**Interlude One – Ministry of Magic**_

.

"Madam Umbridge…"

A scream interrupted the judge presiding over the trial. It wasn't the first time, and Amelia Bones didn't expect it to be the last either. Dolores Umbridge had been under the care of a mind healer since her imprisonment, under the wary eye of a pair of Aurors. It changed nothing about her condition though. She still believed to be Bellatrix LeStrange and didn't listen to her real name, getting furious every time someone addressed her as Umbridge. Not that those temper tantrums changed much from her ordinary behaviour. Only by having that Muggle around – the one she still believed to be Rastaban LeStrange – was it possible to calm her down for a while. The sight of her behaving like a love-sick teenager was sickening. In the end it had been decided to keep him around until they knew what to do with her.

"You are charged with the murder of a nurse at St. Mungo's, several cases of aggravated battery, and the abduction of Healer Smythers. In addition you broke into the house of the Crosner Family, used a number of Unforgivables against them and even tried to Imperio the son to kill his squib sister."

The last point had caused special outrage among the audience. To Amelia's disgust but not surprise, many among them were not outraged because of the near murder of the daughter but the impertinence to Imperio the scion of a pureblood family, even if only a very small and unimportant one. It was equally disturbing that the abduction of that Muggle didn't make it into the bill of indictment. Apparently it was as unimportant as some of her other "petty crimes".

"What do you plead?"

Amelia Bones blanked out the sputtering, fuming answer of the mad cow. She had used the name of the Dark Lord several times already and apparently tried to explain that it had all been for the betterment of the magical society. The "Greater Good" obviously wasn't Dumbledore's solo domain anymore.

"We have to get rid of dirty blood…" Dolores went on and on, boring her audience to tears and only convincing them even more that she was far beyond any medical help. Regretfully it also meant that she couldn't be sentenced to Azkaban. More and more it became clear that she would be sentenced to stay indefinitely in the "permanent magical illnesses ward" of St. Mungo's. Because of her overall dangerousness however, they would need to bind her magic this time.

_They should have done it the first time_, Amelia mused. _It wouldn't have saved the nurse but the rest of us would have been spared much trouble_. At least there was the amusement of catching her thanks to a squib knocking her out cold. For a moment she wondered what Harry was thinking about the matter. Because of Umbridge's treatment of Daphne last year, he hated the woman with a passion. Dudley's right hook would certainly help in cementing the friendship between the cousins.

_One problem solved_, Amelia smiled thinly. _There are enough waiting that are not so easily solved. But it's a start_.

.

"And what will happen to me?"

Dolores Umbridge had been carried off – kicking and screaming bloody murder – towards the DOM to get her magic bound. Healer Smythers had returned to her practice, eager to treat some normal patients for a while. This only left the small problem of the Muggle Rastaban "Henry" LeStrange. The law was very clear and unambiguous about such situations:

He was a Muggle.

He had no close family ties to magicals.

He knew far too much about their world.

The bottom line was that he had to be obliviated. However he hadn't simply watched a single incident of magic but experienced weeks under Umbridge's "care". An obliviation of this magnitude entailed risks, risks she wasn't willing to accept without first giving him the choice. So she spent the next minutes explaining the law, the expected treatment and the dangers. He took the news far better than expected.

"I'll forget everything?" Amelia nodded.

"Smythers, the shack, the maniac… everything that happened the past weeks?" Amelia nodded again. It had been decided that it would be easier to change the whole experience into some sudden vacation trip memory than to only modify the magical details. It simply wasn't safe enough, they could overlook something. Doing the big chop was far simpler, even if it was a kind of butcher's move.

"Then I'll do it."

Amelia lifted a brow. "You're certain?"

"Yeah," Henry nodded eagerly. "I would do anything to forget those nights." He shuddered. Hopefully he would be able to sleep again without nightmares about _her_.

.

_**Somewhere in the forests around Prague**_

.

_**Markus**_

His awakening was slow and a little painful. His head hurt. There were voices around him. For a moment he kept his eyes closed and listened. They weren't speaking Czech, that for sure. There was the smell of burning wood in the air and a campfire was crackling. He felt at least a dozen persons around them and something sent a shiver down his spine – a kind of feral feeling. _I found them_.

"Wake up, little prince, wake up." The voice was teasing, its English heavy with accent. It was a deep, female voice, a voice able to draw you in, make you listen and forget everything else around you. A voice that promised salvation if you obeyed, and damnation otherwise. Slowly he opened his eyes, lifted his head a bit and had a first glance around. He was lying in the middle of a camp, a handful of old-fashioned camping trailers forming a circle – those more modern Muggle contraptions, not the older horse-drawn ones that he had seen in Binns' lessons. Nearly a dozen persons were walking, sitting and working in the camp, more seemed to be in the trailers. They had a tanned skin, dark hair and quite colourful clothes. Most of them ignored Markus but the speaker of that special voice was sitting across the fire and watching him intently.

It was a woman around thirty. She had a tanned skin and raven hair, wore a very simple dress with a beautiful silken belt. A couple of silver jewellery pieces accentuated her beauty, the most interesting ones being a pair of wristlets that looked like snakes coiling around her forearms with tiny emeralds for eyes. She had very dark and expressive eyes, eyes that made him look away very fast as he feared to fall into them. Silly notion, he admitted, but it was exactly the feeling he had. He had seen those eyes before… somewhere. A girl was sitting on her lap, ten-years-old at most and glaring at him like he was a bug. She was whispering something into the woman's ears. The woman nodded and the girl left her place to vanish into one of the trailers, not without sending a last glare in Markus' direction.

"I… I know you," Markus's words stumbled. "I saw a picture of you." He hesitated, frowned as he tried to remember. "In the boudoir of my grandma there was that painting. Ildiko," it was half statement, half question.

There was a small, sad smile on her face for a moment, but it vanished as fast as it appeared. "I remember your grandma very well, Markus Flint," she said softly. "I mourned her death."

Markus nodded with a sad face. His grandma died when he was seven. He didn't remember her very well, but the feeling that he had always been welcomed and loved at her house. His mother never sold the dowager house his grandma had used in her last decade. But sometimes she visited it together with small Markus. Those visits had only stopped when he entered Hogwarts. His father hadn't been a fan of his late mother-in-law.

"You miss her," she spoke more gently than before.

Markus frowned. "Can you read my mind?" He tried to concentrate on the few training sessions in Occlumency he had at fifteen – sessions his father soon ended again because his disappointing son showed no real talent for that skill.

"No, but you're wearing your emotions on your sleeve," she showed a toothy smile now. "Don't try to hide them. You're really bad at it. Not a bad thing per se. People able to hide their emotions from others will sooner or later start to hide their feelings from themselves as well. It darkens your day. It's like leaving an important part of you behind."

"Among Slytherins it is a valued talent," Markus countered.

"This may be," her smile widened. "But you aren't your run-of-the-mill Slytherin apparently. To come into this part of the country, all alone and without knowing your way – that's very… how do you call those brave, forward rushing types? Your grandma mentioned them sometimes, something with G…"

"Gryffindors," Markus pouted. It didn't help that she was right about that part.

"Yes," she grinned, "Gryffindors."

.

_**Ildiko**_

"So what are you doing in this splendid part of my lovely country? Surprised as you are about my presence, you apparently weren't looking for me." There was a surprisingly soft teasing in her voice. For a moment he wondered how his reception would have been without her presence. He shuddered. And he wondered what exactly Ildiko was. She certainly didn't look like a Vampire but the painting in his grandma's house had been fifty years old at least, perhaps more. He knew better however than to spoil the moment and ask impolite questions. Questions she presumably wouldn't answer.

"I was looking, "Markus hesitated. Was it really clever to tell her that he had been looking for independent Werewolf packs? He had no idea about the structure and inner politics of the different packs. Who owed allegiance to whom? There obviously were different sides of the medal, with the Treskows supporting Potter while Greyback was a follower of the Dark Lord. Was Ildiko allied with one of them? In the end he had to admit that he had to trust her, else she wouldn't trust him in response. "I was looking for Werewolves."

Ildiko narrowed her eyes and a few of the bystanders froze for a moment. "What kind of Werewolves?" The question confused Markus. _Kind? There were different kinds of Werewolves_?

"Yes, there are," Ildiko answered the unspoken question. "There are those among us that succumbed to their inner animal, no more than bloodthirsty savages. Then there are those trying to suppress their animalistic side, who fear that part of their soul and use magic to cage their inner wolf." Markus nodded. Those two sides he had met back in Britain. Greyback certainly belonged to the former group, Lupin to the latter. Treskow he had never met. "And then there are such as my siblings: willing to merge both halves of their souls into something greater than their parts. They embrace their wolf, don't cage but equally don't submit."

"That sounds difficult to me," Markus admitted, earning him an appreciative smile.

"It is, "Ildiko agreed. "It is a daily struggle. But with Gaia's help we are succeeding."

_Gaia?_ Markus wondered. _Wasn't Gaia some pagan Earth Goddess?_ He decided to ignore that part. Some half-brained comment about their beliefs would certainly not be welcome. "Then I assume it's the third kind of Werewolves I'm looking for."

"Are you sure? It's exactly that kind of Werewolf that would be the least willing to welcome someone like you."

"Like me? You mean a Wizard?" Markus wondered.

"No, magic isn't a matter. Many among us have similar abilities, gifts from Gaia or more traditional magic, some even book knowledge like you have. Not all of us are illiterate savages." His ears flamed for a moment. "No," her face turned stony. "I'm speaking about you being branded like cattle. You're following the leech. I can smell the foul odour of his magic. Your grandma wouldn't be impressed."

_No, not at all_, Markus knew. It was one of the main reasons his father had been against grandma. Perhaps it had even been the reason for her death. There had been rumours…

"I'm not a very talented wizard, "he started to explain, his voice low and his mind back in the past. "I always had problems in school, both because of difficulties with learning and… I react badly to critic. I lash out, often physically. I assumed that I would need a mentor after school, that without someone like… him… I would never get a good position; never earn a place in society. He was the first to praise my temper, my brutality. He even promoted it. He had a way… in his presence I felt worthy."

"But something changed."

"Yes," he got a faraway look. "There is this woman…"

"There always is," Ildiko smiled, reminding him immensely of his grandma right now.

"She saw something in me. I have no idea, why such a… fantastic woman would decide to spend time with me."

"Some people are able to see deeper into our soul that we can ourselves. And sometimes it is simply a feeling that leads us to trust someone. Apparently she had a good influence on you."

"She had," Markus nodded. "In her presence I'm calmer, braver. She taught me that while it is stupid to allow others to use and exploit us, it is no weakness to care for others."

"A wise woman."

"Not really," Markus shook his head. "she made some grave errors herself." He thought back about her story, how she had been forced to take part in the attack on Pinegrew Manor, and how Roxanne had allowed her to escape. "But she got a second chance and is willing to learn."

"Making errors is human, learning from them a sign of wisdom. You certainly know that old proverb. It's true in the end."

"Then perhaps she actually is a wise woman," Markus said thoughtfully. "And today I'm here following her wishes."

"And your visit has nothing to do with the leech?" She asked, still a tad wary.

"No," he resolutely shook his head. "He wouldn't be happy about this visit." Markus grabbed his left forearm were the Dark Mark was hidden under his sleeve. He pushed the sleeve up and stared at the mark. "It seemed to be the right decision back then. Now I can't turn back. I can only try to make the best out the situation."

"There is always a way. No, not always, but very often. In your case there could be one as well." Markus look up with a start, his eyes widening. "But you aren't there already. Come back if you're ready to turn your back on that part of your life." She patted his arm, careful not to touch the Dark Mark. "And now tell me why you're here."

.

_**Alecto**_

Clan-Healer Ildiko was sitting on a stub and intently watching this young man in his sleep. He still had a headache from the concussion but she didn't feel bad about it. The clan had to be careful. Yes, clan and not pack, because they were Roma first and Werewolves second. It had been like this for centuries and she intended to leave it this way. There were a few non Roma among them, but still the majority belonged to her kind. And the rest had adapted.

"Are you certain about this?" Her nephew asked with a low voice. He was the current leader of the clan as her official position was more that of a wise woman, healer and consultant, despite her word having been law for several generations. "He is a follower of the leech." Like many of their kind, her nephew was able to feel the dark mark on Flint's arm. It felt like an open disease, eager to break out and taint everybody near the disease bearer. It made him queasy. "And it will draw Greyback's attention."

Ildiko had to admit that he was right with those points, but still she stood to her decision. "His heart is already turning away from the leech. He still doesn't understand fully the depth of his love to this woman, but it will help him on his path. And this woman he spoke about… Jessy told me about her." She meant Jessica Treskow as her nephew knew. She was one of his aunt's closest friends despite the age difference. "She and Fabian would be happy about us helping this woman. And we own the Treskows far more than that. Without Fabian's father half of the clan would be dead."

Her nephew nodded in agreement. Half a century ago their clan had been in danger of annihilation. Ildiko had been gravely injured after a fight against a coven of Czech Vampires, who used the German occupation to go against the truce that had existed between Werewolves and Vampires around Prague for Centuries. Many warriors of the clan had died or been injured as well at Ildiko's side. A Werewolf leader supporting Grindelwald had tried to exploit this moment of weakness to force the clan under his thumb. The clan leader back then decided to sooner die than surrender. As a show of force to the other clans and packs, the Grindelwald pack leader intended to annihilate the whole clan in retaliation. Only the timely arrival of Fabian's father and his werewolves had allowed them to survive and Ildiko to wake up to a teaming camp and not a graveyard. In an irony of fate there had been a couple of Czech Vampires assisting Fabian's father in his rescue mission. Their presence later allowed Ildiko to renew the truce. It was stronger than ever today.

"When Riddle first arose, Greyback was furious about our refusal to join him. He only held back because he wanted to avoid open battle with the Treskows. This time it won't keep him back," her nephew still reminded her. "Especially with him having such a special interest in this woman." He still felt slightly ill, thinking about Flint's story. This woman, this Alecto Carrow, had endured more than any woman should ever have to. Greyback obviously had a morbid interest in the woman. He wouldn't be stopped easily from hunting her.

"I have a feeling that Greyback won't be a nuisance for long anyway."

"You really think that this Potter will off him? I hardly understand Treskow's trust in a boy being successful were many others failed."

"Age isn't everything," Ildiko shrugged. "And Jessy trusts him too, him and his friends. They fought together and this story she told me about Potter destroying dozens of Dementors… that's hardly the feat of a boy."

Her nephew sighed, feeling defeated. "Alright, alright, you'll get your wish." His aunt grinned wickedly and patted his cheek, making him pout in a cute manner for such a serious man. "I'll go prepare everything for her arrival."

Ildiko watched him depart, before she said with a low but not angry voice: "you can stop pretending to be asleep, Markus."

.

_**Interlude Two – Hogwarts **_

Snape closed the door and locked it magically, warding it heavily against any intruder. Even Moody would struggle to break through this and that was exactly the reason for the whole effort. He departed a few moments later, not spending any energy on hiding his displeasure as he left the squabbling duo behind in the floor. Moody and Black would go on and on for a while about the best course of action. They had been like this for the past week and Severus Snape was more than happy that the end was in sight.

Like a roaming shadow he floated through the corridors of the castle, ignoring the paintings watching him and the odd armour spinning its head to follow his path. He felt exhausted but incredible relieved. The last experiments had been more than successful. He was now able to order the Inferi around. They were even following complex orders by now, more than enough for his intention. As soon as the quartet infernal destroyed that blasted elemental shield, he should be able to take down Riddle's inner layer of protections.

Moody had been most supportive in the end despite his perpetual whining about using Inferi and not some Death Eaters. Severus assumed that he partly said those things because Snape was a former Death Eater as well. Moody still didn't like him but at least he trusted him enough to follow his lead in the matter. And he found some useful shield spells to protect the group while their little bomb walkers triggered Riddle's traps. Normally he would nonetheless demand that the quartet leave the chamber for the last part – all others really because only he was needed for that. But he knew better than to demand this precaution. Nobody would listen.

_Bloody Gryffindors._

The Gargoyle stepped aside without waiting for the password and the door opened. Filius expected him. Severus walked into the chamber and sat down across the Headmaster. Filius was watching him expectantly but stayed silent.

"Everything is prepared," Severus simply stated.

A smile erupted on Filius' face. "Good, very good."

.

_**Somewhere in Africa – 21**__**st**__** of August**_

.

"I don't like this." Amélie looked around, straining her inhuman senses to detect the reason of her bad feeling. She was certain that this was a trap and everything in her screamed to pull back. But she had promised Richard to support this group and protect them as much as she possibly could.

"I don't give a shit about that," Senior Auror Lucas Rosier snarled back. He belonged to the extended family of the Rosier purebloods, a family that had earned itself a bad reputation among the light and grey families of the Wizengamot and Ministry. The past years had been filled with wary looks and every single of his actions and decisions since Voldemort's return had been challenged and scrutinized, his critics waiting for a single sign of him showing his "true colours". They were wrong, had always been, because he was a black sheep to his family like Sirius Black had been to his. However he never had a mentor like James Potter, or friends like the golden boy to speak for him. So he had to fight for his position and would sooner die than to choose the coward's way out.

They had been following a pair of thugs – officially drivers of a local mining corporation – that had behaved suspicious. With a load of tinned meat on their lorry – enough to feed twenty men for another week – they had left some unimportant village and went straight into the hills surrounding the area. Rosier decided to follow them, against the advice of Gasira's scout and the French Vampire's "feelings". He hadn't liked her from the start. Partly it was because of her appearance. Weren't Vampires meant to be beautiful? Amélie was anything but that. Actually she was one of the most hideous women he ever met and she exuded this awful smell. Yes, she had a nice voice, but that wasn't enough to cover the rest. And now she was trying to keep him from doing his job.

"Let me go in first and scout the area. They won't detect me." Amélie had no wish to enter that black hole leading into the mountain. It was as if it was waiting for her, to swallow her whole. But she was one of the best scouts in Baron Pascal's services, the exact reason why Richard assigned her to this group. He trusted her since they met for the first time seventy years ago, and she had no intention to disappoint him now.

"No," Rosier shook his head. "We'll go in together." It was clear that he didn't trust her. Amélie had no idea why. "I don't want to give them a chance to scram."

"How should…"

"I'm the leader of this team," he was fuming now and having a little toddler temper tantrum. "I'll decide on our course of action. If you're too much of a coward, you can leave here."

Amélie was stunned. Hadn't she just offered to enter the cave on her own? How was that a sign of cowardice? "Alright, I follow you," she responded teeth-gnashingly. _We'll regret this. I'll regret this_.

.

_Fuck!_

Perhaps if he had assigned Amélie to the top spot, she would have detected the trap in time. Rosier, however, was still too angry to think logically and was unable to make rational decisions. Because of this Gasira's scout was leading them into the tunnels. He was a trustworthy man, but didn't possess nearly half of Amélie's senses. Completely missing the trip wire, he was caught by surprise as the flash grenade went off. It was one crafted explicitly to affect Vampires as well, with a strong UV light component thrown into the mix. The scout and Rosier were stunned long enough to allow the assassins to cut them down before they had time to react. One moment the bastard was strutting around like he owned the place, and the next he was a bleeding heap in the ground. It was only a small satisfaction that the culprit of her death died as well for Amélie had no doubt that she would die here and now.

The French Auror hastily erected a shield, despite being blinded by the sudden light. It was a special kinetic shield, especially meant to stop bullets. And it did its work – for now and only barely. Four assassins put their automatic weapons to good use and slowly tore the shield down. They had excellent cover and barely dodged as the duo of Aurors reciprocated the fire: the English with Reducto spells, the French with his silenced SMG.

Amélie was scanning their back for more bad surprises. Certainly their assailants wouldn't allow them to flee. And really: there were motions, like rats scurrying around in the darkness, human rats. "There is something behind us, another trap I think," she informed her comrades. "I see at least two little metallic box, shaped like an arc, and resting on tiny tripods."

"Shit," the French commented, strengthening his shield a bit and hitting at least one of the assassins with a couple of bullets. "Anti-personal mines! We can't go back. Where the hell did that bitch get this crap."

Amélie shrugged. "There are enough weapons littering around in Africa to start a third World War – thanks to the European, American and Russian armies passing through."

It turned eerily calm. Their assailants stopped their fire for now. Only now and then there was some rushing and running around. Either they were waiting for their victims to make a dash for the open, running straight into their mines, or they used the time to get reinforcements and position them before they reopened fire. Amélie had no intention to wait this long. "Forward or backward?" She asked, getting a sign from the French Auror to go on. Apparently he hoped that the mass of their attackers was behind them.

"Why don't we apparate out of here?" His British comrade asked. The French only pointed towards the walls. "Something is in the rocks disturbs the magic, warping it a little. I encountered something similar in Zaire. You don't really want to risk it – or only as your absolutely last chance."

A gurgle from the tunnel ahead informed them about Amélie's actions. She had nearly melted with the shadows and even hidden from the night-vision goggles their assailants used. Leaning down from the ceiling to which she was clinging like a spider, her strong, clawed hands were put around a muscled neck and broke him with a vicious snap. The following sounds were ugly, but certainly distracted the last two assassins waiting in front of them long enough for the Aurors to put them down.

"This way, gentlemen."

.

They were taking a little rest in a small chamber, formerly used to store some mining material. The French Auror was panting heavily while his British colleague tried to stop the blood flow. All three had been injured several times over the last two hours. So far the Aurors had been able to heal the worst of injuries while Amélie emptied the veins of more than one enemy to put her own incredible healing powers at full strength. Still, the end was foreseeable. Half an hour ago she had killed the first Vampire. It was a young thug and no real challenge, but others would follow. And then there were the undead. After an hour, with nearly a dozen of his men killed, the hostile leader had ordered his men to retract and close off all exits. They were trapped now deep in the mines, with no way to escape. The decision to press forward had proven to be the wrong one. _Tough luck!_ Now the second wave started: undead cannon fodder. If they killed ten, another twenty would arrive five minutes later.

Amélie looked down the tunnel. Over there, on the ground and looking like a broken doll, rested what remained of Rosier. Obviously there was a Necromancer among the attackers and they had started to use the freshly fallen to create more soldiers. Hopefully he was too damaged now to be of any use.

Heavy steps resounded in the tunnels.

_They are coming._

.

_**Interlude Three – Ministry of Magic**_

.

"You can't do this." The screeching was anything but manly. More than one face appeared in the open doors leading to the corridor where Rufus Scrimgeour, former Head Auror and Deputy of Amelia Bones, was led through.

"Do you have any idea who I am?" It was a stupid question. The duo had been Aurors for more than a decade and certainly knew exactly who he was and more importantly who he had been.

Scrimgeour cursed in pain as the one to the left "all accidentally" pushed him against a corner. The other threw his colleague an amused look and got only an uncaring shrug in return. "You did this deliberately," Scrimgeour fumed, fighting the disgusting plastic shackles one of the Aurors put around his wrists. It had been one of the many innovations the British Auror Department adopted from their new friends over in Spain, France and Denmark. _Damned Muggle lovers_.

"Shut up!" The taller one growled back. "You're grinding on my nerves, little rat."

Scrimgeour's eyes bulged. Until now he had no idea what this matter was about, and hadn't expected such harsh words. Even Amelia and Kingsley, both certainly not his friends anymore, stayed polite around him most of the time. Kingsley, who was on some hair-brained mission according to rumours; a mission he hadn't be able to get any details about aside from the fact that a dozen British Aurors was accompanying him.

Something must have happened, something shaking up the fragile balance of things around the Ministry. His position had taken a dive down after his defeat at Longbottom's hands, but he still had contacts and friends in high places. They only needed a bit of time to recover, to find a new leader after Dumbledore's death. He had hoped to take over in a few weeks and it had looked promising – until a few minutes ago when this pair of hairy gorillas happened to enter this office, unannounced and quite rudely to boot.

Scrimgeour realized how serious this all became as they let him into an interrogation room where not only Robards but also Amelia Bones and Minister Fudge himself awaited for his arrival. Amelia was enraged, this much Scrimgeour realized. Fudge was looking very smug while barely trying to put on a neutral façade. The last man waiting was Delbert Hastings, Head of the "Department of international magical Cooperation", Scrimgeour's new boss and the man he intended to replace at the first opportunity. He had only been waiting for the man to mess up something big, to create some international éclat, perhaps with a little help on Scrimgeour's side.

"Delbert," Scrimgeour exclaimed with relief in his voice. "Thank Merlin you're here. These imbeciles," he pointed towards the Auror duo "were treating me like a criminal." He raised his hands like expecting to be freed of the restraints any moment. To his shock Delbert only shrugged, looking slightly sorry and put a piece of parchment on the table. "Sorry, Rufus, I can't help you in this matter. You're on your own." After this he simply left the room, leaving behind a completely baffled Scrimgeour. Rufus didn't see the wicked grin on Delbert's face. Delbert Hastings was quite young and very new in his job, but he wasn't so naïve as to believe Scrimgeour to be his friend, nor a loyal ally. Scrimgeour had been a tad too ignorant and open in his speech and planning, allowing a friend to give Delbert some warning in advance. He could have supported Scrimgeour in the matter. Staying at his side would certainly have strengthened Scrimgeour's position. However, Delbert felt no need to do so.

_I gave you a second chance, Rufus_, Delbert mused. _And you bit my hand. You deserve everything you'll get_.

Back in the interrogation room Rufus was too stunned to realize that it would be cleverer not to read the parchment's content, so as never to accept it in a legal way. This idea came a few moments too late, only after he read those statements. _I'm suspended_, he was barely able to grasp. _I'm suspended because there are "doubts about my trustworthiness, my loyalty and my discretion"._ This also meant that he had no immunity any longer, and that the DMLE was allowed to prosecute him like some riff-raff.

He looked up and into the eyes of Amelia Bones. _She knows_, he realized now. Somehow she learned about all the secrets he told Dumbledore and the others. This was bad. Lack of discretion was normally "only" a case of a heavy fine and a suspension, could perhaps even cause a dismissal. Within the DMLE however it could be far more serious. It only depended on which spilled secrets they knew about. If only one Auror had been injured or killed because of Dumbledore using those secrets, he was in a deep heap of shit.

"And now, Mister Scrimgeour," Amelia started with dishonest friendliness "we want to speak about speaking up at wrong places and wrong times."

.

Amelia Bones felt filthy. The interrogation had been even worse than expected. As soon as Scrimgeour realized how much they already knew – Dumbledore's notes had been painfully detailed – he was eager to make a deal. He offered to rat out his contacts in other departments and even near the Minister, and what information he had gotten so far to blackmail Fudge at a later time – luckily it hadn't been much because of how Kingsley had been sealing off the Minister's office – and who supported his plans.

After the first sweep out three months ago, evicting dozens of Riddle's blood obsession sympathizers, there would need to be a second one. Hopefully it would be the last one for the near future; they might be able to allow some of the culprits to get off with probation and a strong warning. Not every critic of the Minister was bad, not every Dumbledore supporter was a fanatic. They had to differentiate.

It had been the right decision to make an official move against Scrimgeour however. Bry had been against it, supporting the alternative of blackmailing Scrimgeour. That, however, wouldn't have been a permanent solution. Right now the Dumbledore fraction was stomped into the ground. They would recover however if left on their own. No, she would prosecute him; she would enforce at least a short-termed stay in Azkaban and a life-ban from any official post. And she would crash the pity-party of Dumble's bootlickers.

_She would clear out this pigsty – even if she had to pull out every single pig by its ear._

.

_**Prague – Mazur Manor**_

.

_**Neville**_

"You should have seen his face when I tackled him into the lake."

Daphne giggled and continued to vividly tell Neville about her date and the days thereafter, her face blushing with excitement. Harry was really happy that Daphne had enjoyed the time in Spain, but something was amiss with Neville's behaviour. At least it seemed to be something positive. He looked like he was nearly bursting with the urge to tell them something. Daphne, however, didn't notice. She blabbered on and on, telling in detail what happened at the museum, the lake and the theatre.

_What?_

_Wait!_

"Daphne, I don't think Neville wants to know…"

"Oh," Neville raised a single brow in a teasing manner. "Something interesting happened at the theatre? Perhaps in some dark loge?"

"Prat," Daphne shoved him, looking slightly embarrassed. "Not that."

"Me thinks the lady denies too much." He was now teasing Daphne for a change.

"Pah," Daphne mock pouted, crossing her arms in front of her. "If you don't wanna hear about Harry…"

"Daphne," Harry whined.

"…about Harry," Daphne continued without mercy, "singing on stage…"

"Oh, yes, please tell."

"Traitor," Harry glared at his supposed friends.

"I could be convinced to share the memory. Would you have anything to offer in return?"

"Perhaps some very cute memories about…" Neville stopped himself and flinched as he realized what Hermione's retaliation would be. "No, I'm afraid I don't."

Harry grinned, guessing what Neville had been thinking about. He got this look himself when Hermione was angry at him. _By the way_…

"Where is Hermione?"

.

_**Hermione**_

"HERMIONE!"

Harry's screeching was certainly heard down in Prague city. Neville hadn't answered his question with words but simply opened the door to Hermione's room, and there she was waiting for him. Harry jumped his friend and practically tackled her to the ground, leaving Daphne standing with a pout.

"Harry. Breathe…" Hermione rasped.

"Stand up, you big oaf," Daphne growled. "Let me greet my best friend properly."

"Err…" With blushing ears Harry stood up, flinching as Hermione yelped because he accidentally stepped on her hand.

"Still the graceful one, I see," Hermione mocked him and allowed Neville to help her up before hugging Daphne. After a long and heartfelt hug, Daphne pushed her back at arm-length and scrutinized her thoroughly.

"Back among the living? Everything alright again?" Hermione nodded to both questions with a happy smile.

"Better than alright," Neville commented. "All scars from before are gone. Real baby skin again."

"Neville," Hermione screamed in indignation.

"And how would you know?" Harry asked teasingly.

Daphne slapped him slightly. "Don't ask and you won't get any answer. A gentleman never tells – and contrary to you Neville is a gentleman."

"Could the floor please open now and swallow me," Hermione begged.

"I can be a gentleman, too, I let you know," Harry pouted.

"Yes, you can," Daphne admitted without irony. She caressed his cheek and neck for a moment with her hand. "You have been a pure gentleman in Spain."

For a minute the four friends enjoyed the loving moment in silence, before Harry broke the sappiness with his question: "and how did it happen, Hermione, your change back?"

.

_**Harry**_

"A LORRY?"

If Harry's first scream was enough to startle the birds down in Prague, this one certainly reached to the last corners of the country. His friends flinched. Neville made a soothing gesture, and Daphne put her hands on her ears to protect them. Harry didn't notice. He was far too occupied with turning Hermione around and looking for any signs of injuries.

"Are you alright? Did you get hurt?" He even tried to push her onto a couch. "You should…"

"Harry," Hermione resisted, rolling her eyes and pushing him away. "I'm fine. I didn't get hit. I only got really scared and reacted in pure instinct. I apparated into Neville's arms, and to do so I transformed back."

"Are you really certain?"

Daphne and Hermione exchanged a look, both girls silently mouthing '_Boys'_.

"Could you please stop manhandling my girl?" Neville demanded. Harry was really behaving a little silly. Or perhaps Neville had only forgotten – more pushed away – how he had felt for hours afterwards. He hadn't been able to let go of Hermione the whole day. She had to shove him out of the restroom in the end to get a bit of peace.

"MY girl?" Hermione asked, her voice a tad too sweetly. "Since when do I belong to you?" She started to punctuate every word with a poke into his chest. "Let me make this very clear, Mister Longbottom…"

"Oh, oh," Harry grinned, biting his lower lip, "bad choice of words."

Neville's reaction wasn't as expected. Instead of apologizing or weakly explaining, telling her that he hadn't meant it that way, he grabbed her hand and pulled her against his chest. "Oh no, let me make this very clear, Miss Granger: you are mine as I am yours."

The seriousness of his words stopped her instantly. Her expression softened as he continued. "If you thought that I'll ever let you go; if you assumed that there is the slightest chance that I won't mary you as soon as you have your NEWTs, than you aren't as clever as I thought. You're stuck with me, Hermione, forever." Hermione's eyes were a bit teary now. Her hands patted his chest softly, as she didn't know how to answer.

"Have I made myself clear, Hermione Granger-future-Longbottom?" Hermione nodded weakly, before she hugged Neville like she wanted to crush him.

Harry opened his mouth to tease his friends, but was stopped cold by Daphne's threatening index finger: "one single word about sappiness and I'll broadcast your singing appearance in the Great Hall of Hogwarts."

Harry instantly closed his mouth with a snap, knowing that Daphne meant business. Hermione halfway turned around and asked with a teary giggle: "there was singing as well?"

.

_**Daphne**_

"Grandma sent me a letter," Daphne told Harry some hours later. She was snuggling against his chest, lying in her bed. It wasn't as big and cosy as the one in Toledo had been, but it was enough for tonight. She didn't plan on sleeping along anymore.

"What did she tell you?"

"Wanted to know about my birthday," Daphne snickered. "Do you think I should tell her about your reaction to her gift?"

"Don't you dare," Harry growled, feeling slightly ill about Roxanne reading such an answer. He wouldn't put it beyond Agatha to deliver Daphne's answer to Roxanne with the broadest, smug grin.

"Alright," Daphne patted his chest. "I'll omit a few details."

"And aside from that?"

Daphne was silent for a while. Only then did she sigh and answer: "Professor Snape is ready. He finished his experiments and is convinced that he can neutralize the inner protections if we cancel the elemental shield."

"So we'll return to Scotland for a while." It was more statement than question.

Daphne nodded into his side. "Scotland it is."

.

_**Somewhere in Southern France**_

.

Baron Pascal Deveraux, leader of the Vampire covens of Southern France, instantly knew that something bad had happened, as his old friend Lillian entered the room and approached him. Lillian looked like a stern elderly woman, not unlike Professor McGonagall. Most people that met her, mortal and immortal alike, underestimated her at first meeting. It was a grave error. She was "only" the matron of his castle, mostly organizing the day-to-day affairs, had done this for the greater part of three centuries. But she was far more than this in reality.

Many of his followers were stronger than her and had more battle experience. However, she had the strongest, indomitable will he ever met, and her special powers, while only rarely used, allowed her Presence to cower even battle-hardened veterans like Richard Madsin. In addition she was something to a mother-figure to him, the one person that had seen him at his worst; that knew about his inner demons, his fears and hopes.

Only once a political enemy of him had tried to blackmail Baron Pascal with threatening Lillian. He abducted her, kept her prisoner and even tortured her. Baron Pascal completely lost it back then. He went on a rampage, single-handedly freed her and killed any Vampire not fleeing fast enough. After taking care of Lillian, he hunted his enemy down, followed him through Switzerland, Austria and Eastern Europe until he caught him somewhere in Siberia. The tales of what he did to the stupid men were still used to frighten young Vampires.

This elderly Vampire was now standing in front of him, looking very sad.

"What happened?" He asked with a raspy voice.

"She's dead, Pascal," Lillian whispered. "Amélie is dead."


	20. Chapter 20 One down - two to go

**One down – two to go**

.

_**Somewhere in Africa**_

.

"He's here."

An absent-minded Richard Madsin accepted Paul's statement with a curt nod. He was examining the mine tunnels where the other team had found its death. He had to know how the ambush happened, which tactics and weapons the other team had used. This was far different from the time when Shaeffer's team had beaten the ambushing mercenaries. This time there had been Vampires and Wizards reinforcing the mercenaries. They even created some weak kind of undead soldiers, far less dangerous than Inferi but still adding to their numbers – a good cannon fodder.

"How is he doing?" Rodrigo asked, caring more for the boss' state of mind than the current location. He had known Pascal nearly from the first day of his Vampire existence. In the beginning Rodrigo had been a mortal servant of the older Vampire that had sired Pascal. He had been there when that sire and his disgusting friends caged Pascal and a few other neophytes – freshly changed Vampires – like animals, forcing them to do their bidding while humiliating them at every opportunity. Rodrigo himself was supposed to serve his master for a few years before ending as one of his meals. His old master certainly didn't care one bit about him, putting him on the same level as a trained dog.

In the end Pascal and his friends rebelled. They freed themselves and turned the tables on their Sires by hunting them down. They were absolutely fearsome. Rodrigo had changed sides as well, helped Pascal in his battles. Years later, when he had been mortally wounded in a battle somewhere in Northern Italy, a good friend of Pascal offered to turn him – and Rodrigo accepted. His friendship with Pascal hadn't changed since then. He had never been as close to Pascal as Lillian but was still close enough to realize the anguish that their leader would be feeling right now about Amélie's death.

Paul lifted a single brow. "How do you expect?" His expression and voice told Rodrigo how stupid Paul deemed the question to be.

Rodrigo sighed. Amélie had been a very special case from the beginning. Living in a little French town near the Pyrenees, deserted by her Sire immediately after getting turned against her will, the young woman had struggled for a while on her own, living from rats and rabbits, while pretending to still be alive. But soon there had been rumours. A lynching mob had formed and chased her away, more because of her ugly appearance – a result of the "family genes" inherited from her Sire – than anything else. Driven underground, she was weak, ill and desolate when Paul found her and brought her to his master. Pascal saw something in her; took her in and kind of adopted her. She had been like a daughter to him, a daughter that taught him as much as he did her. Amélie grounded him with her self-control and caring heart that hadn't lost her humanity one iota. He feared what her death would do to Pascal.

The first thing they noticed was the coldness. It announced his arrival more than anything else.

"Shit," Richard cursed. Everybody close to Baron Pascal knew that their leader, despite all his advantages, had one serious flaw. Like his brother he had serious temper problems. While Jean Deveraux controlled it with a mix of shamanistic meditation techniques and some big game hunting sprees from time to time to get rid of his overflowing energy, Pascal Deveraux had chosen a different strategy. He was adamant about the rule that a leader had to be in control of his temper, this alone never tempting him to join Voldemort nevermind how many times the request came. In his eyes, Voldemort was barely more than a toddler prone to serious temper tantrums. So he had learned something not unlike the wizards' Occlumency. It had, however, a noticeable side effect. The more his temper was raising its ugly head – something he rarely allowed to happen these days – the tighter his control got on his surroundings… hence the cold.

It was only a side effect of his technique, but his friends had learned to notice it and react accordingly. It was some kind of a warning not to provoke him any further. That they were able to feel the coldness before they saw him, was a bad sign – a bad sign for Madam Guille that is.

.

"They had chosen the location very carefully," Richard explained a wee bit later while leading his master around. He had known Pascal for a long time but this kind of hurt had only appeared once, after Lillian's abducting. "One of Kingsley's men examined the place. Apparently the veins of ore in the rocks around them were somehow disturbing magic in the area. It made it impossible for them to apparate into safety."

Pascal nodded curtly. Amélie would have stayed with the helpless team; there was no doubt in his mind on the matter. He had been against sending her here, but she was an adult, able to make her own decisions. He had no right to restrict her. Despite of his view of her, she wasn't some underage daughter of his any longer. She wanted to help and so she did. Richard could have decided to put her in the main team instead of sending her with the investigators, but that would have been unfair as well. This was Amélie they were speaking about – sweet, caring Amélie. Rodrigo suppressed a hiss of surprise as he noticed tears of blood running down Pascal's face. The temperature was arctic now, coldness rolling around in strong waves around them. Obviously he was struggling to keep control.

Paul put a hand on Pascal's shoulder. He was one of the few allowed to make such a gesture. Centuries ago, Pascal had been there for him when Paul had no desire left to live, when he felt like a worthless cripple. He had nurtured him back into life and later his Unlife. No, he was returning the favour. Paul didn't say a word, but somehow the gesture was enough. After a moment Pascal nodded again, this time more in control.

"Let's have a look around."

.

They had informed Hafsa and the other teams. They would be more careful now and Hafsa was already on the hunt to get more details. Apparently there had been a trace of the necromantic magic used in the mine. It could be possible to follow it to the Vampire using it. Madam Guille was dangerous enough on her own. The final battle would be easier if they were able to destroy a few of her chess pieces beforehand.

Pascal already had taken a look at the place of the first ambush. The trap had been well hidden but the end result had partly been the fault of the Auror leading the team. Obviously Amélie hadn't been the one leading the team, an extremely stupid decision as the young Vampire had been an extremely accomplished scout. She had been no Hafsa, but certainly would have detected the danger in time. A second error was the team leader's decision not to wear some kind of bulletproof armour. Presumably he had trusted his enchanted robes. "Stupido," Rodrigo growled with a low voice. All the French Aurors were wearing this kind of Muggle Armour, knowing that most shields wouldn't stop automatic weapon fire. Hell, even shield and armour combined would only barely be enough to protect against an assault rifle with AP ammo. Leaving it behind was plain stupid, and so aristocratically British...

Slowly they followed the trail of blood. Most cadavers had been used to fuel some necromantic ritual and it was only in the last chamber and the surrounding tunnels that they found most of them. More than once a grim smile crept onto Pascal's lips when he noticed another victim of Amélie's claws. She was a caring person, always eager to help a child in need or to feed some invalid beggar. However, she also was fearsome in battle, especially when someone she regarded as a pack member was threatened.

At last they reached the place where the final stand had taken place. The so far surviving trio had found an extremely defendable position, a little raised from the ground and with a good view on the surrounding tunnels. Amélie had been clinging to the ceiling, putting her fearsome claws to good use, while the Auror duo protected her flanks. But in the end it hadn't been enough. All three were lying there, completely torn up, recognizable only because of their leftovers robes and wands – or jewellery in Amélie's case.

For a long time Pascal was standing there, holding an amulet in his hands, the amulet he had given her to her fiftieth re-birthday as a Vampire. "Friendship" the runes said. He meant it back then, he still meant it now.

"I want her body taken care of. I want to bring her home."

His friends startled. They had watched him in silence so far, giving him some space to say his farewell. It was Paul who answered sadly: "there isn't much left of her, Pascal. Only the robes and…"

He was hit by a furious wave of coldness. Pascal crunched his teeth. It was like listening to a mine tunnel, rumbling before everything came down.

"She is still here," Pascal uttered hoarsely. "I can feel her body – over there." He stretched out his hand towards a pile of cadavers not far from the place where Paul had found the amulet and the shredded robe. The cadavers started to move aside, making place for Pascal's searching eye. It was impressive to watch him use Thaumaturgy, a kind of magic very rare among Vampires. Now, however, Paul only had eyes for the space his master created. After a while, the last cadaver was moved away. A little disappointed Paul noticed that there was only empty, solid stone ground left. He turned around to his puzzled looking master.

Pascal watched the place through narrowed eyes. Suddenly his eyes widened. Paul stepped back in shock as Pascal started to spit out a long string of swear words, not all of them in French. "Out, take cover," the last words were said in older Provencal French and meant as a battle command, as all present Vampires understood. They immediately followed the order and hurried out of the exit of the chamber, taking cover within the corridors as well as they could. They had barely time to do this before an incredible burst of magic erupted in the chamber, creating noises as if the devil himself was making an appearance right there. Several corpses, or at least their tiny pieces, were sent through the corridors and pelted the walls. After a few seconds there was calmness again. Richard, Paul and Rodrigo waited a little longer, before they took a look into the chamber, very carefully, and ready to jump back at any sudden movement.

The middle of the chamber was empty. The bulk of the cadaver had been hurled away against the chamber's walls. The place where Pascal had assumed Amélie's body to be was empty but now looked like mud instead of stone. Pascal was nowhere to be seen.

"What…?" The only answer was a shrug. So they waited in silence. From time to time there was some movement in the mud, as if something was crawling through the stone and mud far below – or someone. Suddenly something broke through the surface, a head at first, shoulders, and a chest. They needed a moment to recognize their leader, now completely covered with mud. He rose from the ground, but the friends had only eyes for the sweet burden he was carrying – Amélie's broken body.

.

_**Hogwarts**_

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_**Harry**_

_Hogwarts again._

It was like coming home. At least he had expected it to be like this, but in reality it had been far weirder than anything else, foreign and distant. Harry felt too mature to live here again. He wasn't a kid anymore and barely felt like a teenager, supposedly innocent and carefree. The last few months had done this to him. He was sixteen now, barely another year to go until he was considered an adult in the magical world. Daphne and he could even marry now, in Scotland at least. For a moment a sappy smile could be seen on his face. He intended to make that dream come true, but not today. First they had to make certain that the second Dark Lord in his life was permanently taken care of like Minerva did with the first.

_Minerva –how was she doing?_ Harry mused. His relationship to his house head had vastly improved since Professor McGonagall started to make her own decisions again. Like Hermione and the others, he was incredible happy for her new motherhood and hoped that everything went well in Iceland. Daphne suggested they visit her before returning to Prague. He would like that, not only because of Minerva, but also because he loved the island and the clan of hill-elves.

In two days they intended to make their move. While Hermione used the time since her return to a full human again to make some arithmantic calculations about how to search Prague in the most efficient way, Neville organized everything for the elemental ritual that would take place in the "base stone chamber". It still felt a little weird to have Neville in charge, the one with the most knowledge about something that hadn't anything to do with plants. Harry had no problems with others giving directions though. He had been used to that after years following Hermione's advice. Hermione had more of a hard time to adapt but she was getting there. In the end, every one of the quartet had his or her strengths and could complement each other. They were the most successful if they learned to make the best use of this fact.

Only another week until the students return, Harry mused as he passed the empty classrooms left and right. Ginny will be here, Luna and Gabrielle, Padma and Susan, and many more of their friends. Grandma Agatha will make a show of her own Animagus form and Sirius will be the best DADA teacher since Remus, perhaps even better. Daphne and Hermione had nudged Harry into giving Sirius some pointers about what had been good and bad with Remus' lessons. _There won't be lessons about some Chinese water spirits barely 5% of students would ever meet in their entire lives_. Hopefully he would get a chance to experience Sirius and Agatha as a student himself, after everything was sorted out in Prague.

"Hello Aunt Petunia, hi Dudley," he greeted his family as he entered the classroom where Petunia was preparing something for her lessons next week. On the side she was supervising Dudley doing some of his summer assignments. He hadn't been able to finish them all with all the mess happening this month.

"Hi mate," Dudley greeted him with a broad grin. For a moment Harry wondered about the extra happy greeting until he realized that Dudley hoped Harry would rescue him from his ordeal. While Dudley had gotten far better at school, he still wasn't a Hufflepuff regarding homework. Harry shrugged and grinned only, however, knowing better than to try getting between Petunia and schoolwork dedication.

"Hello Harry," Petunia actually left her seat and hugged her nephew. The meeting with Dolores "maniac" Umbridge had taken its toll on her and Petunia was still recovering. She was far more touchy-feely now than before and barely allowed Dudley out of her sight. The bitch had nearly killed Dudley and her, something she wouldn't forget so soon. At least it didn't turn her opinion back to her former "I hate magic" worldview, Harry realized with no small amount of relief. She still loved Hogwarts and according to Headmaster Flitwick she was still going on with her Arithmantic studies. Harry hoped that he would one day be the nephew of the first squib arithmantic mistress.

_That would show them all._

.

_**Daphne**_

_Boys_, Daphne shook her head and grinned. She had just left Hermione and Neville to themselves and intended to use the moment to visit someone on her own. Neville had been reading a book he got from Dudley of all people. It was a book about boxing. Daphne had to admit that she had been impressed to hear about how Dudley knocked that bitch out. Harry had been a little disappointed that it hadn't been possible for him to avenge Daphne himself, but he had been very proud of his cousin too. Dudley had told in detail the whole incident, complete with animation and shadow boxing. Harry and Neville had been appropriately impressed, Neville even more than Harry. Partly because of his connection to the element of earth, partly because of his Animagus form, she assumed, Neville had a closer connection to physical combat than the rest of the quartet. Now he intended to learn boxing, apparently, and Dudley was more than happy to show him the ropes.

Daphne reached the door she had been looking for and knocked. Was that a giggle? Daphne stared at the door a little puzzled. It certainly sounded like a girlish giggle. Before she had time to think about it, the door opened and an annoyed looking Argus Filch appeared in the doorframe. After realizing who was visiting him, his whole face and stance changed. Daphne startled as Filch actually showed a real smile. The sight was a little frightening after years of sneering and snarking at every student in sight.

"Come in, come in," he ushered her into his room.

Daphne followed his lead, only to stop a few steps later, staring flabbergasted at the only other guest. Already sitting there, now trying – to Daphne's complete horror – to arrange back her clothes, was Professor Sybil Trelawney. She looked far better now than in the weeks after her rescue – healthier and even younger. Right now she had a deep blush on her cheeks but a silly smile as well.

"You have new spectacles," Daphne uttered before she could stop herself.

"Yes," Sybil's smile brightened. "Argus chose them. Do you like them?" Daphne blinked. For a moment her mind totally blanked out. _Argus? What was going on?_

"They … harrumph … they're lovely." And they really were. Daphne watched Sybil who stopped being shy and actually preened under her compliment. The new spectacles were far more modern and chic than the last ones, which actually looked more like loo seats framing beer glasses. Sybil had done something to her hair as well. It wasn't as untamed anymore and actually had a kind of hairstyle – a very rumpled hairstyle like after a snogging session.

Daphne felt very ill suddenly. She respected Mister Filch, especially since he actually tried to behave more like a caring human. And she even liked Professor Trelawney, if more in a "barmy aunt" way. However, the pictures of them both snogging and… cuddling… she didn't need right now. "I'm certain Parvati and Lavender will like them, too," she said to change the topic.

Professor Trelawney was happy to oblige and spoke about her favourite students. However, she looked a bit sad and after Daphne asked her about it, she explained to Daphne's surprise that she wouldn't teach Divination for a while. "My time… there," she gulped, looking teary-eyed. Sybil hesitated and only continued after Argus took a seat at her side and put his hand over her. It actually looked quite cute, certainly not an adjective she would have used regarding Argus Filch in former times. "It changed me. My inner eye… I fear it left me." Her lower lip trembled and Argus pulled her against his chest.

Here's really something new, Daphne concluded. Her mother had told her about the rumours regarding Mister Filch's bravery at the rescue mission, how he carried Professor Trelawney through the corridors of Voldy's base and didn't allow the healers to treat her without his presence. It had been clear even before the rescue mission that Argus Filch felt more for the weird Divination's professor than for any other staff member. Apparently his heroism had impressed Sybil enough to put her former, slightly unnerving, adoration of Professor Snape at rest. The Slytherin would be more than happy about this development.

"I'm sure it will return," Daphne tried to sooth her. "You'll have to be patient. You can't force your inner eye back." She had spent enough time among Parvati – mostly thanks to her friendship with Padma – to know her vocabulary.

"You think so?" Professor Trelawney asked, trying to show a very weak smile.

"I'm sure of it."

.

_**Argus**_

"Look!"

Professor Trelawney had left the chamber to have a little nap, while Daphne stayed with Mister Filch. Now at last she had the chance to ask him about his training. It had gone better than before the rescue mission. Apparently the increased self-confidence – and perhaps the liaison with Sybil, Daphne really didn't want to think about that part – had done wonders to him. He was now able to do nearly a dozen first-year spells more or less correctly. Alright, the _Wingiardum Leviosa_ he demonstrated right now wasn't very strong and the moment of the book's movement wasn't very steady, but it was far better than three months ago.

"I'm impressed." She really was, not so much because of his abilities but because of the patience and diligence he showed. He must have been training endless hours to do this all. "I was thinking," she continued, "we ought to combine your abilities with runes. Harry is very good at them. We could prepare a few items like self-moving brooms, self-warming blankets or a sturdy cart with some feather-light charms. You could use your wand to activate the runes. If you don't overtax them, the magical aura of Hogwarts should be enough to recharge them, especially if you put them near one of the warding stones from time to time."

"You think this could work?" He asked a little doubtful. "And Mister Potter… he would do that for me?"

"I'm certain." _He'll better do_, Daphne growled silently. "You have been together in that battle. You were… comrades-in-arms."

Argus blinked. Then a smile appeared on his stern face and he straightened his posture. "We were, weren't we?" He puffed his chest a bit. _Comrade-in-arms with the boy-who-conquered_, he liked the picture.

"I'm certain he would be happy to oblige."

Argus was hooked on the idea and Daphne actually had to start a list about all the things he had in mind. They agreed upon a handful of things that would be the most useful, to have a test run until the quartet returned from Prague. Argus Filch looked a bit sad as he heard that the quartet wouldn't be back in a week. It was certainly another novelty that the caretaker actually wanted a student to be at Hogwarts – dragging dirt into his clean, shiny castle.

"Do you think," he asked a wee bit later. "Do you think Sybil could have such a wand as well?"

Daphne thought about the question. Filch's wand had been especially crafted for him. It allowed him to gather his magic in a slower way than usual, partially compensating for his far weaker core. His magical score was barely above 40 even now and even after a few more years of using magic, Daphne didn't expect it to ever surpass 50-55. Professor Trelawney however wasn't a squib. Her mother had told her that Sybil didn't use magic very often around others. Her magical score seemed to be around 60-70, more than enough to count as a witch but below the threshold to get admittance to Hogwarts or one of the other more renowned schools. _Perhaps she had been home-schooled even. It would explain her social clumsiness_.

Argus was now watching her a little fearsome. Daphne patted his hand. "I don't see why not. A wand especially crafted for her would certainly suit her far better."

"But we can't tell her the reason." Daphne nodded. Professor Trelawney wouldn't be happy about rumours of her being a near-squib.

"We don't have to. Such an experience like she had can be magic-changing. You could convince her to try a new wand because her old one doesn't suit her anymore. And I'll write the wand-maker about Professor Trelawney's special… condition. It will be our little secret."

"I'll pay for the wand," he stated with determination.

Daphne nodded slowly. She would write the wand-maker about this as well. She would pay half of the price but Argus didn't have to know that part. "I'm certain she'll appreciate that."

.

_**Somewhere in Africa**_

.

Pascal Deveraux walked around in the antechamber like a caged tiger. He knew that the White Hag would make him wait. It was all for appearances, to prove that she was in charge around here. But it didn't mean he had to like it.

Right now Rodrigo and Paul were on their way back to Southern France. They were among the few people he trusted to take care of Amélie's body. His adopted daughter was in a very precarious condition. She had been mortally wounded in the battle and gone into torpor – a kind of very deep Vampire sleep – but not before using her Earthmeld ability. It allowed her to sink into the stone ground of the chamber, protecting her from any further attacks. Likewise it made it nearly impossible to locate her.

_She must have expected me to come looking for her_, Pascal mused. _Or at least she hoped I would_.

She had been right. Pascal had taught her how to Earthmeld more than thirty years ago. Now he could only hope that she would recover. He had some of the best healers on hand at his castle. They would have to nudge her back to health, slowly and extremely carefully. It would take time, months at least, perhaps even years. He would wait for her, ready to scream at her for being this careless with her Unlife. Pascal had great plans for her, and he wanted to follow through with them. And a small part of his old heart accepted that he would miss his daughter dearly. She had filled a part of the hole the death of his wife left behind.

The door opened. "The White Hag is expecting you." The old butler announced.

Pascal took a few deep breaths – not that he needed the air, but to calm himself. He nodded curtly and entered. Time to make plans.

He had a Vampire bitch to kill.

.

_**Hogwarts – 26**__**th**__** of August**_

.

_**One chamber**_

"They still give me the creeps," Neville whispered and Harry had no funny retort to that statement. He had to admit that the Inferi felt unnatural to have around and hoped he would never again have to fight those creatures. _Knowing my luck_, he grumbled silently, _this will happen sooner rather than later_.

Severus Snape had brought his five "little friends" into the chamber a bit earlier already and stored them away in a magical stasis field. With the help of Alastor Moody he even inscribed some additional rune wards to protect them from any backlash when the quartet broke down the elemental shields. Now both men were erecting a layered shielding for those unwilling to wait outside much to their dismay. Roxanne and Agatha were there, as expected. Roxanne had put her foot down and sent Astoria away, pouting and screaming. Filius would observe the whole process, as well as Brychan Camwy, who possessed the most knowledge about what the quartet intended to do. Augusta Longbottom was sitting at Agatha's side. She had barely been able to keep Frank and Alice away. At least she had been able to convince them by reasoning with them only. Remus on the other hand had to use a sleeping draught to keep Sirius away. Harry had mentioned that he feared he would get distracted by the presence of his overprotective and sometimes a little restless godfather. There would be some yelling later, that's for sure.

Two more groups were present, both mostly to observe and protect the other occupants should something go fabulously wrong. Matron Mathilda and her group of guards and family members made one. Her presence was necessary to allow a group this big to enter the chamber and the other house elves had simply refused to leave her alone. And then there was Tremors and a few of his Goblin curse breakers. That he brought along Bill Weasley was proof of his high opinion of the human in Gringotts' service. The red-head was watching his young friends intently, Balou and Crooks resting on his shoulders. The duo of tomcats had accompanied their mistresses and simply dodged any attempt to shove them outside. Apparently they trusted Bill to not attempt it once again.

"He knows what he's doing," Daphne simply stated and changed the topic, pointing towards the stone in front of her.

Neville had, with the help of a dozen house-elves, brought four of them into the chamber. Each of them was big enough to sit on and certainly weighed about 200 pounds. Each looked a tad different, despite all four being some kind of marble/granite mix, not something existing naturally. Obviously Neville had created them especially for this ritual and decorated them with some runes that looked like he had poured pure silver into the scratches.

"Explain." She ordered.

Neville happily obliged, trying to ignore that his headmaster and quite a few other very accomplished wizards and witches were listening intensely to his words. "The outer shield, as we know, combines all four elements. We have to neutralize them and deprive the shield of its energy in a controlled way. We don't know exactly how much energy Dumbles actually used, only that it was quite consequent. The easiest way would be to extract the energy and dissipate it into the chamber stone." He pointed towards the stone in the middle of the room. "However, there is the second layer around it, and we don't know how both stone and inner layer would react to this influx of magic."

"We could store it in our own cores," Harry suggested.

"We could," Neville agreed, "and we will, partially. However, the fire component is very strong and the water one even more so. It could be strenuous for our cores to confine them."

"You want to store the magic in these stones," Hermione realized. She actually had the benefit of having seen a few of the books he had been reading these days.

"Yes," Neville nodded. "We'll draw the energy from the shield and store them in these stones. It should be easier to control the amount of energy drawn as well."

"To align our progress," Daphne understood.

"Correct. Each of us has a different amount of magic to handle. Hermione's part will be especially intense. This way we should be able to finish the job at the same time. Brychan," he pointed towards their friend who nodded curtly "prepared a spell that allows us to see the percentage of work finished with each segment of the shield."

"I think that's a really good idea," Hermione praised him.

"Could we use the stored magic at a later time," Harry asked.

"What do you have in mind?"

"We could certainly use a bit of additional magic for the shielding when Professor Snape sends in his walking bombs."

"We'll try that. Everybody in position. We start… now."

.

_**Four elements**_

_It is fascinating to watch them_, Filius mused. The four teenagers had taken their positions, stayed silent for a few minutes – he assumed they used their mindlink for last arrangements and to attune to each other – before they raised their wandless hands at the same time. For a few seconds nothing happened; then tiny filaments of magic started to reach out from the elemental shield protecting base stone and diadem. They whirled around like the tentacles of a squid searching for their prey. One by one they found them, connecting with the hands of the quartet.

The next step was a bit boring to watch. The teenagers only strengthened their bonds, before they established a second one to each of the stones. The tiny filaments had grown into arm-thick cables, buzzing with magic. They were moving, tossing around like untamed horsed, trying to escape the quartet's control. Without another spoken word, the teenagers increased their activity, and the buzzing increased dramatically. While the "cables" of Daphne and Neville stayed mostly the same size, the fiery one controlled by Harry increased until it was as thick as a grown man's thigh. Hermione's water cable increased as well and didn't stop there. It bucked wildly and grew steadily. In the end its diameter was more than two feet and Filius had to admit that he had no idea how the young woman was able to control it. She was standing there very silently, with only a few pearls of sweat on her forehead telling them how strenuous the activity was.

_She's using her Occlumency skills_, Severus Snape realized. He had actually been impressed about Hermione's talent at the rare ability. He had been equally impressed by Harry's talent at Legilimency, but would never admit that fact. He was still struggling to admit that any Potter could have any real talent at anything.

Suddenly the numbers - created by Brychan Camwy and floating above the four stones - started to change. There were two numbers for each stone: The first showed how much progress had been done with extracting an element from the shield. The second showed how much more energy could safely be stored in the corresponding stone. The changes were very slow at first, but then the teenagers got the hang of it and increased the speed of storing the energy away.

_99 … 98 … 95 … 85 … 65 …_

Augusta Longbottom was concerned about her daughter-in-law. She had started to call her like this in her head sometime this summer. She had no doubt anymore that a marriage would happen in another two years and was eager to see her first great-grandchild. Now however she noticed that Hermione was struggling to keep on with her task. They had known that the water shield part was far stronger than the rest, even the fire one. For every ounce of magic Harry was handling, she had to control two, even with Harry being far stronger in magical power than her. Daphne looked well so far and Neville even had time to glance once in a while towards Hermione. Augusta didn't need any mindlink to realize how concerned he was as well.

"Her stone isn't strong enough," Agatha whispered into her ear. Her friend had noticed whom Augusta was watching and saw something Augusta had missed. And really: Comparing the numbers floating above the stones, it was clear that while Neville's and Daphne's stones would be barely filled to a third after the ritual, Harry's stone should reach around 75% of its maximum in the end. This meant that Hermione's stone wasn't strong enough to keep it all. Around a third of the energy she would have to store in her own magical core and Augusta was unsure whether she would be able to do this without damaging it – with perhaps catastrophic consequences.

"Stay here," Agatha ordered and left her place, gesturing Roxanne and Brychan to follow her move. Brychan nodded. It was the best option. Roxanne complied as well, but not before whispering something into Ciddy's ear. The loyal house-elf had been unwilling to leave the chamber, and had simply glared Roxanne into submission. Now she vanished from the chamber after a silent exchange of looks with Matron Mathilda, only to reappear a few seconds later with Astoria holding her hand. The girl's expression was a mix of smugness and happiness, but swiftly changed to concern as Roxanne explained the situation to her.

There was 45% left of the elemental shield. There was barely a difference to see for the others but they trusted Brychan's spell. The second number indicated 82%... 82% of the stone's capacity was already reached. Hastily Brychan and the trio of Pinegrew woman took positions around Hermione, the girl giving no outer sign of having noticed them. _What are they planning_? Filius wondered. It became clear moments later, as four additional filaments of water magic appeared. The one connecting the stone to Brychan was the weakest – no surprise there – while the one towards Agatha was the strongest by far. Slowly they started to draw magic from the stone and store it in their cores. They had to be very careful not to disturb the ritual. The whole progress slowed down, as the other three teenagers wanted to give Hermione more time to control the flow.

_It will be a tight squeeze_, Filius thought, biting his lip and narrowing his eyes. Even with the help of the other four Congregation members he expected the number to reach 110, perhaps even 115% in the end. He hadn't asked Brychan before how much leeway there was. Now it was too late to ask him and Filius didn't dare to mess with the ritual by interfering himself.

_24 … 22 … 20 … 18 … _The withdrawal had whittled down to a trickle now. The capacity was at 94% now … 95 … 96.

Something moved around in the chamber. Two somethings actually; Filius whirled around and watched with a mix of horror and anticipation as Balou and Crooks left their resting spots on Bill's shoulders, dashed towards their mistresses and jumped onto their corresponding stones. Before anyone had a chance to act or at least scream in anticipation of a disaster, a new magical link sprang into existence, connecting the stones of Air and Water through the duo of cats.

_96 … 95 … 94 … 93_

The water stone's capacity number started to drop again with the number above the Air stone rising at the same speed. Both cats started to glow, one in a pale-blue light, the other in a dark green-blue one. They even seemed to grow a bit but perhaps that was his imagination only.

Suddenly there was a rustling in the air. Filius wondered what it meant and needed a second to realize the origin: the elemental shield had faltered and vanished. He had simply been too preoccupied by the stone's capacity and the trouble to contain the magical energies to notice how depleted the target of the whole ordeal already was.

The shield was down. Time for phase two.

.

_**Five Inferi**_

The next phase had actually been a tad boring. After some heavy screaming of the girls at their cats – and some equally heavy cuddling accompanied by bright magical glowing – Professor Snape had started "Mission Suicide Bomber". One by one he freed the Inferi from their confinement and sent them near the base stone. There they had to wait for the shields to be raised, strengthened by the energy depleted first from the girls and cats, and later from the stones.

At least they had used the air and the earth stones. The fire stone they had stored away for later use. It was the one connected to Harry and while they had no actual plans on how to make use of it, it was realistic to expect some situation where he could need this extra biff of magic.

"And the water stone?"

"I have something planned for it," Hermione smiled, hugging Crooks again. "It's a present for someone." She turned towards Harry: "I'll need your help with the preparations." Harry nodded simply, indicating he knew already what Hermione had in mind.

With the shields up, the Inferi reached the stone one by one, only to be destroyed in a blazing explosion. It was an incredible mess and most of the observers gagged in disgust. But the inner protection was destroyed now as well, leaving the diadem - the Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw - to be picked up by anybody.

.

_**Two teachers**_

"I should have said no."

Severus Snape acknowledged Filius' mumbled statement with a hint of a smirk and a slightly lifted left eyebrow. "And you think it would have changed anything?" He teased his headmaster.

"No," Filius sighed deeply. "But I would feel better, less guilty."

Severus shrugged and turned towards the centre of the room again. "Miss Pinegrew was alright with Potter's plan. And even Miss Granger agreed in the end." _After much hassling_, as he remembered.

"You trust their evaluation of the involved risks and benefits?" Filius wondered. Miss Pinegrew was a Slytherin at least, but one that had been around a Gryffindor for years, her cleverness being tainted somewhat. And Hermione Granger was even worse. Filius remembered one statement if not the first person uttering it: _"the sorting hat saw more courage in Hermione than intelligence. With someone of her intellect that's a frightening statement."_

Severus shrugged again, this time accompanied with an apologetic smile. "If both ladies accepted Potter's tactic, who are we to stop them?"

"Right," Filius agreed in the end. "Now let's hope for the best."

Like Severus he started to watch the quartet again. Daphne and Hermione had sent their tomcats away with dire orders not to intervene again. This time it would be too dangerous to do so. Filius shuddered a bit at the thought of what could be more dangerous that disturbing a ritual meant to destroy an elemental shield created by Albus. He had been more than a little troubled when Harry asked him to allow the quartet to try something special. They wanted to destroy the Horcrux without destroying the Diadem. With elemental and necromantic protections down, it would have been easy to take the diadem to another place and destroy it with Fiendfyre. Alright: not actually easy but at least feasible without too much of a risk. However, the quartet intended to use a different approach and in the end he had caved. The thought of rescuing the Ravenclaw artefact from certain destruction had been too tempting.

Hopefully he wouldn't regret it.

.

_**Four friends**_

"{You're sure about this?}" Neville asked. Like Hermione he was somewhat afraid about what could happen to Harry and Daphne. Their risk was far greater than for Hermione and Neville. While the later would "only" assist, to strengthen and shield, the former had to plunge into the darkness itself to take the fight to the centre of the evil tainting the diadem.

"{I wouldn't risk Daphne without being convinced that we can do this – with your help.}" Harry responded, sounding more convinced than he felt.

"{We've discussed this, and agreed. Now we go.}" Daphne stopped the conversation. She wanted to finish the job _now_. Like Hermione she was eager to see an untainted diadem. Headmaster Flitwick had promised them unlimited access to the artefact if they were able to cleanse it. "{I'll lead the way and Harry's job is to shatter the Horcrux. Neville: you'll have to strengthen us and keep the link open, while Hermione has to be ready to shield us, should there be a backlash of some kind. I expect it to happen.}" For a moment she hesitated: "{you're ready for this, Hermione? Even after the water shield's destruction?}"

"{I'm okay,}" Hermione confirmed. "{Thanks to Crooks and Balou. But I forbid you to tell them.}"

"{I fear they know it already how much they helped.}" Neville snickered.

"{Little devils,}" Harry agreed. "{Let's go.}"

.

_**One crown**_

It was a hell of a landscape. Daphne was reminded of the time she entered the mind of Alice Longbottom, only this was like the old library of Alexandria, burned and destroyed, plundered and sunken. Hundreds and thousands of books and scrolls scattered the ground, taunting and teasing her mind, attempting to distract her from her path. More than once Harry had to stop her as she tried to lift a scroll from the ground that looked intact or to peek into a book whose cover tempted her. So much knowledge, destroyed in the eons, lost to humankind forever.

The doors of the library were broken, destroyed with big axes or simply ripped away. Shelves were burning, ponds of oil were bubbling with sheets covering the surface – sheets containing old and precious wisdom, Daphne was certain about it.

"Don't," Harry stopped her again just as she wanted to jump into one of the ponds. There was a book written by Asclepios himself, teasing her.

"You simply don't value knowledge like I do," she snarled, feeling the darkness seeping into her heart and mind.

"No, I don't," Harry's honest statement burned away her anger. "Your life and mind I value far higher than all the books in the world." Daphne's expression softened and her mind hugged Harry's. Somewhere in the centre of the library someone hissed in anger.

For a while the tempting stopped. It only got harder and harder to go on. More and more barricades blocked their path, with endless ponds of mud slowing them down and heaps of books and shelves barring the doors. Several times Neville had to send them an impulse of magic, mostly to strengthen Daphne as her magic was weaker and seriously taxed by locating the destination of their quest. As they again had to stop to allow Daphne some time to decide where to go, a lone figure appeared behind Harry.

"You'll need help to win the last fight, Harry."

"Who are you?" Harry asked, wondering why Daphne didn't react to the stranger.

"Someone willing to help you. Someone with the knowledge you'll need." Two impulses went through Harry's heart, the first one full of certainty that, irrespective of how long he battled the darkness, he would never win in the end. The second impulse was filled with hope that this stranger could be the deciding factor in his struggle, that this entity had the knowledge he so direly needed.

Harry stared at the stranger, tried to guess if it was man or woman, if he knew him or her. "Why would you do that? What do you expect in return?"

"I would help you because it is the right thing to do," the stranger answered in a patronizing, grandfatherly way. It reminded Harry in a disturbing way of Albus Dumbledore. "I don't expect anything in return, only that you chose the right way."

"Harry?" It was only a whisper.

"And what is the right way?" Harry was certain that he already was on the right path but he had problems to focus, problems to look away from this cloaked figure.

"I'll show you," the stranger's arm gestured towards one of the doors that was open now. Behind it he saw a long corridor leading through several rooms filled with books, weapons lining the walls and a strange fire lightening the area, teasing him to learn how to control it.

"Harry?" It was a tad louder this time, but still couldn't break through the fog clouding his mind. It only distracted him for a moment and he felt annoyance from the stranger. Within seconds the figure emitted full control again and soothed him, nudged him towards the corridor.

"The secret of the fire – it will be yours. You'll be the first wyvern able to breathe fire like a dragon. You'll be able to throw fireballs like only Veelas can. Nobody will stand in your way. You won't have to risk the lives of your friends again. From now on you will be able to do it on your own."

"HARRY!" This time a burst of Neville's magic charged Daphne's shout and it pushed the fog away. His eyes suddenly clear again, Harry smirked.

"But I don't want to do it alone anymore. I have friends at my side and the love of my life. I'll never be alone again. And by the way: did you meet Daphne already? She would spank the shit out of me should I try this bullshit of the solo-fire-breathing wyvern-destructor. Go away. Go home."

An angry hiss was the answer. The figure shed its cloak and left only a shadow of someone behind, pure blackness so dark it seemed to pull in the light. Its hands extended into wicked claws, and it jumped towards Daphne to shred her apart. Suddenly a barrier sprang into existence around the stunned girl, shielded her from the claws that scratched on the surface, emitting sounds like chalk on a blackboard. It intensified its attacks, disregarding the fact that Neville simply pumped more magic into Hermione's shield to counterbalance the attacks, while his girlfriend created a second, far bigger shield that covered the whole chamber, blocking any path of escaping.

"IIIIEEEH." Like a mindless fury the creature tried to shred the shield. For a moment Harry wondered if the absence of Tom Riddle, the distance to his logical centre, was the reason for this behaviour and its former more childish attempt to convince him, to tempt him to the dark side of magic. In the end he had to accept the fact that this became easier than he had feared. Harry positioned himself carefully to be able to hit the creature of darkness with his full wrath without endangering Daphne. He even waited for Hermione to erect a third shield – the abilities of Neville and she now carried to their limits. This third one, with a watery element on the creature's side, would protect him from his own fire. And fire it would be.

_Breath fire, he said_, Harry mused. _Yes, fire and perhaps a little light it should be_.

Only now did the creature notice the danger. It stopped its attacks and whirled around, its eyes – if this creatures had any – searching for a route of escape. But there was none and its hesitance cost it dearly.

"Anima Ignis et Lucis!"

A bright flame escaped from Harry's lips, crossed Hermione's barrier and engulfed the creature. It instantly started to scream, jumped back and tried to extinguish the fire, only to spread it with every move. Within seconds it was completely shrouded in fire, the light component cutting deeply into its body of darkness and allowing the fire to reach its inner core. Like a dust devil it whirled back and fro in the chamber, hit the shields protecting the walls, jumped against the barricades blocking the doors. The screaming intensified with every passing moment as did the fire. Daphne and Harry watched the spectacle in silence. Daphne's hand searched for Harry's and Hermione merged the shields to protect them both from the maniac creature. A last effort, a last attack to break through the shield, but it only bounced back and crashed onto the floor. It clawed hands reached out for the couple like pleading them to show mercy. It didn't deserve any.

The motions stopped.

It was over.

.

_**A/N**_

_For those who know "World of Darkness": you perhaps already realized that Amélie belongs to the Clan Nosferatu, hence her ugly appearance. _

"_Anima Ignis et Lucis!" = Breath of Fire and Light; a combination of his Ignis Terrestris and the Carnifex Lucis spells._


	21. Chapter 21 Ripples in a Pond

**Ripples in a Pond**

.

_**Somewhere in the Far East**_

.

He startled and rose from his deep slumber. He needed a few moments to remember where he was – who he was. He was Lord Voldemort, imprisoned in this piece of terracotta, unable to move a single finger, unable to scream at the insolent brats annoying him every day, unable even to close his eyes to shut them out. He was helpless, but at least he was still able to sleep, to forget his horrid situation for a while.

For some time he had tried to get connected to some of his loyal followers. He had been partially successful. He was quite certain that Antonin Dolohov was now looking for him, that he had at least an idea where his master was hidden and what happened to him, what crime had been committed on his person. His organization had some long-standing connections to some of the wizards belonging to the Chinese Triads around here. It would need some time, and some negotiations, but in the end Antonin would find him. He was certain about that. It made the waiting only the more painful: to know that salvation was nearly in sight. So he had decided to sleep for a while, to rest for the confrontation that was certain to happen very soon. His foes would realize in no time that he had been freed and come for him. He would need every ounce of power in that battle. He wouldn't lose again. He wouldn't allow them to imprison him a second time.

So what had it been that disturbed his sleep? He felt weakened. How could that happen? Suddenly his eyes widened – or they would have if not for his inability to move a single muscle. His Horcruxes – apparently they found one of them. Not only that: they destroyed one of them. His mind raced. At the moment of his defeat there had been only three of them left.

He had given the ring to Antonin Dolohov. The simple golden ring with the engraved crest of the Peverell family had been in possession of the Gaunt family for quite some time. Killing his dear, useless father, had allowed him to turn the ring into his second Horcrux. His link to Dolohov only allowed him to see flickers and feel hints of emotions, but he was certain that he would have known if Dolohov had lost the ring. He assumed it was still safe.

Another Horcrux he had given to Madam Guille. He didn't completely trust the woman, mostly because he couldn't control her. He didn't understand her motivations or her powers. However, he trusted her to take care of the Horcrux. She promised to protect the wand and she would keep that promise. His imagined lips curled into a smirk. The half-breed's wand, turned into a Horcrux by killing that blood-traitor bitch – it had been a kind of poetic justice.

This left only the Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw. He fondly remembered the day he had tricked the Grey Lady into revealing where the diadem was hidden. In Albania he killed some unimportant peasant. Fortune favours fools – but not in his case. He used the artefact of the most intelligent woman of all times and the soul of the dumbest man at hand to create another piece of his immortality. Only it had now been destroyed. How could that happen? He had gone to great lengths to protect it. Finding the chamber alone should have been nearly impossible. Entering it would only be possible with the help of the current house-elf matron or patron. He wondered if it was still the same matron he had made widow decades ago. And even entering the room wasn't the last obstacle. Again he smirked. How many of his foes had lost their lives to the death runes he placed around the diadem? He would have sacrificed some Mudbloods but not Dumbledore, not the leader of light.

His good mood turned sour. Still: they had found it. They had destroyed it. Now there were only two Horcruxes left. It was time for his return.

Dolohov – make haste!

.

_**Hogwarts – 27**__**th**__** of August**_

.

"You have to arrange them in wavier pattern."

"They are wavy," Hermione looked up from her work a tad annoyed by the comment of her friend-brother.

"Yeah, but those are water-waves," Harry explained good-humouredly. "They are too evenly. You however need fiery waves. Fire would never be this evenly. There are spikes and vales; they're more jagged than rounded." He took a piece of paper and sketched how he would arrange the necessary runes.

Hermione watched him through narrowed eyes. It sounded logical however. "Alright," she agreed. "Anything else?"

"Your runes itself," Harry scowled a bit, examining her work. "You have to write them spikier as well, and carve them deeper. Flames hurt, they don't caress. Write them like you would cut them with a knife."

Hermione continued to practise them for a while until Harry was happy with her work. He liked to be the one teaching Hermione something. It was a real change. And Hermione was nothing if not an avid learner. Perhaps she would never be great at casting fire spells – not even mediocre like Neville and Daphne – but her runes would more than adequately do the intended job.

"I think you're ready," Harry judged an hour later. Hermione nodded and under Harry's careful eyes started to transfer her work onto the water elemental stone. It was a bit tricky and she had to use her special connection – and Crookshanks' presence – to "convince" the stored water magic that was in her to add the fire runes. They would allow a fire caster to trigger the stone, exactly the result she had in mind. After another thirty minutes of meticulous work Hermione was content with her work as was Harry.

"Try it," she invited him.

Harry put his hand on the stone. It felt slick like a moss-covered stone directly taken from a river bed. "Ignis," he whispered calmly, pouring only one sliver of fire magic into his command. For a moment nothing happened. Then they heard a noise like someone had switched open a water faucet. Seconds later, water bubbled on the top of the stone like a tiny fountain or a water dispenser. Harry and Hermione shared a big grin.

It worked.

.

"I prepared everything for our little excursion tomorrow," Harry said calmly a wee bit later. The four friends had gathered for a bit of tea and cake – a really wonderful chocolate-egg punch cake baked by Matron Mathilda herself. She had behaved somewhat weirdly today, more like a teenage house-elf and far more teary-eyed than they had ever seen her before. The destruction of the Horcrux had obviously shaken her up immensely. Perhaps it would help her to find closure about her husband's death at last – however Harry had his doubts about that.

"We're still going to Diagon Alley first, aren't we?" Neville asked. He wanted to buy a few things before they returned to Prague.

"We simply have to," Hermione uttered. She needed a few more books and Daphne was looking for one or two as well.

Harry and Neville exchanged a little smirk, well-hidden from their girl-friends. They knew them too well. "I want to visit the twins as well. Looking after the shop I invested in."

"You're not the only silent affiliate, you know." Hermione lifted a single eyebrow. Both she and Daphne had invested both money and ideas into the shop. There was even a line of their products sold in the shop's non-joke corner – mostly small variants of their "endless bags".

She didn't wait for a response but returned to the letter she held in her hand. It was from Mother Sarah, one of the trio of witches leading the whole Congregation of the Asp. The owl delivering the letter had appeared at Hogwarts this morning only, with a couple of books – shrunken for easier transport – as well.

"… _I waited for you to return to your human form before I sent these books. They are for your eyes only. You're not allowed to speak about their exact content with anybody other than Agatha…"_

She didn't like that part but understood that it was a trial of secrecy and trust as well. Neville had accepted it easily as did Harry. Daphne had been a tad hurt that she wasn't allowed to read the books as well. They were obviously about some of the deeper Congregation secrets and her interest was stirred. However in the end her upbringing won. It wasn't so different to the secrets her mother and grandmother kept. She had even listened to a few discussions between Roxanne and Agatha about things they had to keep from each other. If Mother Sarah trusted Hermione with something like this – it was a good sign, wasn't it?

"… _please tell me your honest thoughts about the books' content…"_

"… _in a few years I would like you to add a new chapter …"_

Hermione carefully folded the letter and stored it away before grabbing the first book. It was old and well-used, the corners a little battered.

"{Sister Hermione,}" it felt a little weird to mind-whisper her name to a book but only this way she was able to open it. The pages were even more worn than the cover and a first perusing of the pages showed that the content was handwritten and that at least two dozen writers had been part of this work. The first chapters were written in old Church Latin, something she still struggled to fully comprehend. They even used parchment that was thicker and the pages smaller than the others. Later chapters were written in Italian, Spanish, French and English – mostly Shakespearean English. This would need some time.

Carefully she turned the page to the title of the first of many essays the book contained. Perhaps it would be the best to make a translation. It would allow her to keep the text as well, with Mother Sarah certainly expecting her to return the book someday. She took a stack of papers from her bag, fully intending to bind the pages at another time and started to write:

_The Might of Magic – a due, a duty, and a responsibility._

_It's in the nature of things that the ability to influence things – may it be persons, life conditions or the world view of a whole society – tempts to actually wield that influence. The greater the ability, the greater is the tempting…_

.

_**Somewhere far away**_

.

Again her sleep was restless. Again she was dreaming… about him. It had started many weeks ago. The dreams returned at least three times a week. For a while they were only flickers, like she was looking through a peephole – a peephole opening only for a split second before it closed again. Someone was speaking to her but she only understood single words not whole phrases or sentences even. She was certain however that he – it was a male voice – was calling her name; that he was calling for help. Who was that man? How did he know her? She had asked her sister but she hadn't reacted well. _Nonsense,_ she said. _Wild imagination_, she mumbled. However, she had looked scared, telling her that her sister knew more than she was willing to admit.

Then it changed a few weeks ago. Something had happened, she was certain about it, something that was connected to the man calling for her. Tom, his name was Tom; or had been Tom one time. Somehow he was very important to her, life significant. If she could only remember. The dreams had gotten clearer, more vivid. And she had them now nearly every night. Other faces started to appear in her dreams. There was a man and a woman, both looked familiar to her. Tom was searching for them as well, calling for them. And there was a boy as well, a boy with black hairs, green eyes and a scar on his face. She knew the boy. She hated him. How could she hate a little boy?

She rolled back and fro in her bed, drenching her sheets with her sweat. Her hands reached out, tried to grab Tom. She was calling for him. Suddenly immense pain shot through her head. She seat up, her eyes wide open and blood-shed but seeing nothing, recognizing nothing of the world around her. New pictures flooded her brain, pictures of fights, of masked men and women. She heard and saw herself utter Crucio curses, watched herself kill someone with an Avada. Someone caressed her cheek. He caressed her – Tom.

"_You're my favourite, Bella,"_ he whispered. _"I need you at my side, Bella. You're the only one worthy of my love."_

Her body trembled as he caressed her skin again. Bella, he called her Bella. Yes, Bella she was. Tom was her master, her friend, and her love. She had to find him. Someone had separated them, imprisoned him and made her forget. Her body trembled again, this time in pure rage. She started to scream, not realizing what she did. Someone grabbed her shoulders, tried to hold her, to calm her. She didn't want to calm down. Screeching like mad, Bella lashed out and hit someone. Waves of accidental magic rolled from her body, pushed bodies and furniture away like parts of a doll's house.

More pictures flooded her brain. There was a fight in a mansion. There were people; people she knew. _The Longbottoms_, a voice whispered in her head. There was a bear mauling her, ripping up her arm. And a girl, a girl with frizzy hair. _Mudblood_! The scenery changed. She watched herself from above. There was a woman caring for her sleeping form. Others entered. There was a man with long, black hair, a man she had called comrade, a man that had turned traitor. And a woman, a woman she had called sister, a woman that had betrayed her as well. She pulled a wand from her sleeve, pointed it at her.

_Obliviate!_

Bella screamed again, screamed endless minutes. Then, as suddenly as it had started, she stopped again. A last shudder went through her body, before she closed her eyes only to open them again, this time actually seeing the room around her, seeing the woman watching her: the woman from her dream. _Sister. Traitor_.

"Hello Cissa. Long time no see."

.

_**Diagon Alley – 28**__**th**__** of August**_

.

"We have to go, girls," Harry urged Daphne and Hermione, while Neville stayed near the entrance to keep a safe distance. It was always a dangerous endeavour to separate the girls from their beloved books. However, it seemed they were actually willing to leave Flourish &amp; Blotts now – after only two hours of perusing the newest books. They had left their baggage at the Leaky Cauldron and still had another hour to go before the arranged departure of their international portkey. Harry wanted to spend the time at WWW, visiting the Weasley twins. As a precaution the quartet had some sandwiches and drinks wrapped into their pockets as they didn't intend to take any risks by sampling anything the twins would offer.

As they walked down Diagon Alley, they saw many families enjoying the sunny day for a happy day, doing their last shopping before their children left for Hogwarts. Fortescue was crowded as expected. Some boys tried to convince their fathers to buy them a new broom – "I need it. I can't live without it... How do you expect me to get on the team without a proper broom?" Some things never changed.

Harry smiled. He remembered quite fondly how he had felt as he got his first broom – from Minerva. Aside from Hedwig it had been his first real present, and he loved it. On the other hand: because of his donation a year ago, there was no real need anymore to have your own broom. Contrary to the time when wobbly brooms spoiled Hermione's first flight and broke Neville's wrist, the flying class at Hogwarts now had decent brooms waiting for new students, and the Quidditch teams as well.

"Here we are," Neville brought him back to the here and now. He opened the door and allowed Daphne and Hermione to enter first, like a gentleman.

"You only want us to face the pranksters first," Hermione whisper-teased.

"You know me so well," Neville grinned back. "Constant vigilance."

.

_**Not too far away**_

Ron would have liked a new broom as well. Not that he needed one. His new school wasn't big enough to have Quidditch teams. It was one of the smaller schools all over England, with a handful of teachers and about fifty students. They had chosen this school because Joseph Hardigan knew the head teacher and had been able to make some special arrangements, one of them being able to floo home every second weekend. They even met a few of his future mates already. They weren't too bad. None of them was especially bright, rich or famous, so nothing to be jealous about.

With the help of his private tutor, Ron had been able to sit his OWL in an acceptable way. He even got "EE" in Charms and Care of magical Creatures. He got three "As" as well in History, Potions and Transfiguration – the last one being very tight. Molly had been proud, knowing how hard it had been for him – and Hardigan. Her proud smile had been the most important reason for Ron to continue his education. The new school, because of its size, didn't offer the usual NEWT classes. Instead you continued on a lower level, more to broaden your knowledge and learn additional spells than to deepen your theoretical understanding. If someone really wanted to sit some NEWTs, he got additional tutoring in the subject. Ron had agreed to give it a try with Charms and ComC, after hearing that he could learn how to enchant chess boards and do an internship at the Wales Dragon Reserve. He really liked the idea of becoming a professional chess player/constructor or stepping into the shoes of his older brother Charlie – despite him being a traitor to mum.

Ron glanced to his mother. She tried to behave like she didn't care, but he knew how much she missed her family. He had heard her cry at night more often than he liked to admit. Ron still didn't understand how all of this could happen, and he wasn't willing to completely forgive the twins and mostly Ginny, but he missed them nonetheless, foremost Charlie and Bill – and his father. In the past he had been a mother's boy, he knew that. He still was. His big stomach had to be filled. However, with his father away, he now really appreciated the calm and patient way of his warm-hearted father. He had perhaps been even more surprised than his mother that this time Arthur Weasley had been unwilling to forgive and forget like he had done every time in the past. _The straw that broke the camel's back_. It had been something like that.

He came to a sudden stop as he heard his mother hoarsely whisper "Ginny." He looked around. There she was, hanging on the arm of that Puff-git Diggory. The Chentz-boy was there as well with that Jones-chit. Why did his sister have to hang around with boring badgers? They noticed them now as well. Ginny stopped and paled. Jones hurried at her side and put an arm around her shoulders, while her boyfriend joined Diggory to form a kind of barricade in front of the girls, as if she needed protection from her horrid mother. As Molly made a few small steps towards her little girl, they even dared to draw their wands. They looked like watching some mad, dangerous beast and not a loving mother.

Molly stopped and offered a wavering smile. "Hi," she croaked. "Hi Ginny, how are you?" Ron suppressed a growl. It wouldn't help to give in to his temper right now. Even he knew that. But his mum only wanted to see her little girl. They hadn't even been invited to her birthday party. Molly had been heart-broken but not surprised when Ginny wordlessly returned gift and birthday-card.

"I'm good," Ginny responded, clinging to Jones' arm. "No thanks to you."

Ron had to bit his lip to stop himself from yelling back. His mother staggered a bit and he grabbed her arm to steady her. For a second he saw concern in Ginny's eyes, but her face hardened again.

"I missed you," Molly whispered. She was a proud woman, a stubborn and spirited woman. Never would she back down from an enemy – real or imagined. But losing nearly all of her family had broken her back spine. Dumbledore's death had been the last hit. There were still days when she rambled and fumed about traitors and what a great man he had been, but those got rarer and rarer, the sound more like she wanted to convince herself. Her family had been her only purpose of life – and now it was gone.

"Too bad – I don't," Ginny hissed back. Molly staggered like being hit by a knife in the heart. Again there was concern and a hint of regret in Ginny's teary eyes, but again her face hardened and she whirled around, dragging Jones with her. The boys followed suit, not without Diggory glaring at them and Chentz looking somewhat concerned. Moments later Ron and Molly were alone again.

"I want to go home," Molly whispered. Ron pouted. He hand intended to convince his mum that he needed some more sweets for school. It was clear however, that she wasn't in any condition to continue their shopping spree anymore. And again it was Ginny's fault. _Bitch!_

"It's okay, Mum, let's go," he said, surprising his Mum with his soft voice. Slowly they walked down the street. From time to time he glanced at her face. The last few weeks had been troublesome for his Mum. More and more often she had those migraine attacks that started two years ago. Yesterday had been especially bad and he had feared that they wouldn't be able to visit London today. He expected it to return after the incident with Ginny. Didn't she know… _no, she didn't_, Ron realized. Ginny couldn't know, not with averting her own mother for more than a year now. Only Percy knew as well, and the traitor had left them as well now. Ron didn't need them. His mum didn't need them. They would…

"Mum?!" Slightly shocked, Ron watched his mother crouching down, moaning slightly.

"Mum, are you alright?" _A stupid question_, Ron realized. Obviously she wasn't alright, despite her straightening up again. Ron paled as he saw a thin trickle of blood running down from her nose.

"I don't feel so good," Molly mumbled, before simply crushing down.

"Mum?" Ron screamed. "Help. Somebody help. Mum? MUM?"

.

_**Golden City**_

.

He was in that borderland between dream and reality, between being asleep and wide awake. Sitting in a comfy chair, Antonin Dolohov allowed his mind to wander back and forth in time. Pictures of how it had been flooded his mind. Pictures of how it could be emerged from his imagination. This time there would be neither a Lucius "gold-bag" Malfoy nor a Bellatrix "mad-head" LeStrange around. He would be the Dark Lord's right hand, the highest among his followers, most respected and feared. Perhaps the Dark Lord would offer him the job of "Minister of Magic". Minister Dolohov – he liked the sound.

He would be richer than Lucius Malfoy after a while, with him taking control of the black market and the legal commerce of rare components. The big traders in the rest of Europe would flock to his side as soon as they realized who pulled the strings in Great Britain. Sure, he would have to relinquish a part of his wealth to the Dark Lord to finance his endeavours. This was a small price however for his newfound power and wealth.

His eyes wandered to the wall where a safe was hidden. He had stored the blasted ring in there, using a magical runed box to further protect it – and him from its influence. Unlike stupid Lucius he was clever enough to know what a Horcrux was and what influence it had on the mind of those around. Unlike mad Bella he wasn't crazy enough to actually embrace that influence. The Dark Lord had lifted the lethal curse from the ring before bestowing it to his most trusted follower. He didn't – and couldn't – however change anything about the soul-tainting influence it would have in the long run – should he decide to wear it. Antonin had worn it every time he was around his master, simply to prove his loyalty. He remembered with a shudder what a feeling it had been, what thoughts had crossed his mind. At night he had stored it away, to get a reprieve from the influence, something that worked less and less after some months. In recent weeks however, he had stored it in this safe, only risking a look now and then. He felt better now by far.

His eyes widened in a funny way as suddenly a jolt of magic pierced his mind. It wasn't even directed at him, but still troubling. It had invaded his manor, shot clean through his wards and the protections he put around the safe. A wail permeated the room, a wail not meant for the ears but for the mind. It was like the lament over a dear friend. What could enforce such a reaction from the ring? He was immediately convinced that only the ring and none of the other items stored in the safe could emit such a sound. After only a few moments his eyes widened again.

_A Horcrux has been destroyed._

But which? It had to be the diadem. He didn't know where the Dark Lord had hidden it, only the nature of the item. Knowing his master, he assumed it had been somewhere in Hogwarts. Yes, it had to be the diadem, he thought while opening the safe. Madam Guille, bitch that she was, was far too powerful, careful and clever to lose the wand. With trembling fingers he opened the box. There it was. The ring looked as usual, only a bit shinier. It still emitted that aura of pure evilness, an aura even he didn't like.

What did this mean for his own search? He had made contact with a number of Asian "trading partners" after narrowing down the area where his master was kept prisoner. They had got some leads apparently and it looked like they would find him soon. It was mostly a question of payment now, he feared. He had to prepare his master's return and the ritual of revival. He wouldn't make a mess out of it like Wormtail and Crouch. And he had to send word to Madam Guille, in case she hadn't felt it as well. The wand needed to return to Britain.

_Soon, Master, soon you'll be back. And you'll see who your worthiest follower is._

.

_**Hafnarfjördur**_

.

"That's really impressive."

Hermione actually preened a bit under honest Minerva's praise. It was the first time since her "re-humanization" she tried to use her newly-found Animagus ability. To her relief it had been successful and without any complications. Far easier than she had expected, as she was able to assume her cat-form and turn back into Hermione Granger.

"Do you feel any changes in your human form?" Minerva asked.

She was sitting with the quartet in her summer pavilion, a very nice little building on the sunny south-western side of the hill the hill-elves called home, with a splendid view of the surrounding meadows. Tomas had been the one to convince the other elves to craft it for her perusal, after getting tired of hearing Hildur complain for the umpteenth time about Minerva's bad habit to spend the most beautiful hours in some dusty niche of the clan matron's library. More often than not it was Hildur who snatched a book from Minerva's hands and exchanged it for a cup of tea, a sandwich or some fruit. The sandwiches were the most best Minerva had ever eaten. Those with little cucumber slices and cress were especially wonderful. She had asked Hildur after a recipe, only to learn that it wasn't Hildur but her niece Lina who created them.

Since then Lina had joined the little group and was now sitting again not far away on a tiny chair, keeping an attentive eye on her charge. Lina took her duties very serious, while being eager to learn everything new. This girl's ability to change into a cat was very interesting to her. Lina knew that her mistress was able to accomplish the same – in theory at least, as it was too dangerous to perform this trick while pregnant.

"I think my sense of smell improved," Hermione explained hesitantly. "And my sense of hearing as well."

"Your ears are twitchy like a cat's," Lina added unquestioned, pointing towards Hermione's left ear. She had noticed it moving on its own from time to time when some sudden sound crossed the area.

Hermione frowned but Harry agreed with a big smile. "She's right you know. It's quite cute actually." Hermione pouted a bit, unsure if she wanted to be addressed as "cute", in any form.

"That only means you're in synch with your cat-side," Minerva soothed her. "You'll learn to control it after a while, but it's a good sign. You had problems at first to turn back into your human form because you changed into a cat before really accepting this part of your nature. Now your mind and heart accept both sides of you. You should nurture it for a while – go hunting mice or simply doze in the sun and go explore in the night. You'll get stronger and healthier through it."

"You think so?" Hermione asked a little uncertain. She had still a strong orderly personality and it was difficult to accept this other side of her, lazy and playful.

"Trust me," Minerva reassured her. "Despite my old age, I mostly know what I'm saying." Nobody dared to object.

.

"I intend to return to Hogwarts for a week or two around my birthday," Minerva stated as they returned to their quarters in the evening. "Augusta demands to celebrate my birthday this year. Apparently someone," Minerva shortly glared towards Hermione, "told her about the birthday party at the Gryffindor tower last fall."

"That's wonderful," Harry exclaimed. "Do you need Madam Maxime's carriage again?"

"It's already organized. Healer Jannis will naturally accompany me, as will Lina."

"As your servant?" Harry asked, pondering, as there were quite a number of Hogwarts house-elves that would love to take care of Minerva.

"I'm not a servant," Lina growled. It was easy to forget her presence as she stayed mostly very silent, only watching and listening. "I'm not a house-elf." She was obviously very proud of belonging to a clan of free hill-elves. Hermione loved her for this, but over the years had come to the understanding that most house-elves would be frightened by such a prospect. Not complete freedom but fair treatment was the aim of the hour.

"I didn't…" Harry started to apologize but stopped as Minerva put a hand on the tiny elf's shoulder.

"You have to learn to be more patient, Lina," she scolded her lightly. Lina blushed and nodded, her long ears flapping wildly. "Lina will accompany me to take care of me. She'll later help me with Freya. And Matron Bryndis thinks it's a good opportunity for one of her younger elves to see other elf-clans. The hill-elves of Iceland don't have much contact with other clans. There are many… prejudices… on both sides. I think it will be most interesting."

Minerva left unsaid for whom it would be interesting, Lina or the elves of Hogwarts. Perhaps both.

.

"I want you to have this," Minerva offered Hermione a small package. It was wrapped into very colourful paper and those three-coloured gift-ribbon the hill-elves liked so much.

"But my birthday is not until next month."

"I know, but I assumed you could use it right now. And we won't meet for a time I fear, as you'll be occupied in Prague."

Hermione nodded. They intended to go to Prague again in two days and not return to Scotland before they solved the Ring-Horcrux issue. Thankful she accepted the gift and carefully unwrapped it. The content was a stash of thin books – handwritten journals it seemed.

"These are copies of my diaries about the time I learned my Animagus form and the hours I spent as a cat, learning to be in harmony with my playful side."

Hermione felt a little overwhelmed. This was a very private gift, one that showed Minerva's trust and attachment to her star pupil. Minerva started a bit as Hermione jumped and hugged her. "Thank you, Minerva."

.

"Don't wait for me," Daphne demanded, as her friends accompanied her to say her farewell to Matron Bryndis. "Enjoy your time with Minerva. I'll follow you to Prague as soon as it's possible. Harry is the most important for the search anyway. I'm only a bonus."

"A very cute bonus," Harry grinned, accepting that she was right about his role in the search for the Horcrux.

"Have you got any idea on why your mother needs your help?" Hermione asked, ignoring the playful banter of the couple. She was a tad concerned. Thirty minutes ago an urgent messages of Roxanne had arrived and already Daphne was on her way to London.

Daphne shrugged. "No idea. She only said it's urgent, that my family is okay and she'll need my help with something. I'll have to wait and see."

"I'll miss you," Harry whispered.

"I'll miss you more," Daphne said, equally because she meant it as to annoy Neville who was now making gagging noises despite it earning him an elbow into the lower ribs.

"See you soon."

.

_**Somewhere in Africa**_

.

The signs had been unmistakeable. One of the three Horcruxes that still existed when she left Great Britain had been destroyed. She had felt it and the wand she had promised to protect had been singing its lament. It was weakened now, struggling to rearrange the power flow. Madam Guille was unable to see those power lines connecting the Horcruxes and their master – else it would have been easy to find him – but they existed.

Tonight she received a message from Dolohov. He had noticed the change as well and confirmed that it hadn't been the ring they found and destroyed. According to his message his hideout in Prague was still safe and he was convinced of finding his master's prison very soon.

_He'll need the wand_, Madam Guille mused. One Horcrux would be enough for his return, but both would strengthen him. With him being imprisoned for months and his enemies certainly eager to kill him as soon as he was freed, Tom Riddle would need any ounce of magic available. Two choices were offered to her now.

First she could return to Great Britain. She still had some possible lairs there, some of them belong former – now dead – enemies. Because of the special nature of Tom's immortality, Dolohov would be more than enough to make the ritual a safe one. Her role would only be one of a watcher and protector until Tom was back to full strength. This was the more reasonable choice, the safer choice, but also the one she didn't like.

Second, and far more to her nature, she could stay in Africa. Her assistant could be trusted to return the wand to Africa and protect it from harm. He was a patient man, a careful man. He wouldn't get nervous or create any havroc because of boredom. In addition he had more than enough knowledge about the matter to step in should Dolohov be unavailable on the day of Tom's return. This choice would allow her to close another matter that had annoyed her for a long time. The team of Aurors and Vampires was still searching for her. She had no doubt they would be able to find her very soon. A confrontation would be dangerous, especially with Richard Madsin among the attackers. Among Vampires he was one of most fearsome melee fighters and according to rumours he was nearly immune against direct magic.

However, Baron Pascal would be at his side. She really hated the man. More than once he had been the one to spoil her plans, and he had coerced her French brothers and sisters into the ban built against her. As long as he lived, she could never return to her loved home. Yes, he would be there. He would be in the open and part of the attack, not hidden behind thick walls and dozens of guards. She would have to find a way to distract Madsin, leaving Pascal in the open. Perhaps she could even lure him into a trap with the promise of revenge – revenge for that Vampire bitch her underlings had killed.

Yes, the more she thought about it, the more she imagined his neck under her heel, the more she liked the plan. It would be dangerous. It would need some preparations. But it would be worth it.

Madam Guille smiled maliciously. She had traps to prepare and undeads to raise.

.

_**Prague – Mazur Residence – 30**__**th**__** of August**_

.

It had felt like coming home. It felt right to be here, walk through the bright rooms of the manor, take a stroll in the garden. Perhaps the reason was simply that they were allowed to be normal teenagers around here, not different from any other teenager out there. Despite the search for the Horcrux waiting for them out there in the city, in this manor they were simply Harry and Daphne, Neville and Hermione: four teenager, two couples, and one band of friends. Only they weren't four, not right now.

"Where is Daphne?" Grazyna asked. She had been waiting for them, the manor prepared for their return, where nothing had changed since the day of their departure. Even that Czech novel from Vítezslav Hálek was still resting on the sideboard, since Harry put it down there days ago.

"She wanted to follow us in a day or two." Neville answered, glancing towards his friend. Despite Roxanne's confirmation that the family was alright, he felt restless not knowing what kind of emergency had happened and made it necessary for Daphne to cut short her vacation.

"And you're still a girl I see." Grazyna ignored Hermione's glare, which only deepened as Neville and Harry dared to snicker.

"Yes, but she's now able to safely change into a cat and back," Neville said, while giving Hermione a one-armed hug and a kiss on the cheek. The gesture calmed her down a bit.

"Really?"

Hermione nodded and proved the statement by assuming cat-form and running around a bit before turning into a girl again.

"Marvellous," Grazyna applauded. She sighed: "I would love to be able to do this."

"Can't you learn it as well?" Hermione asked. "You're the Head girl in Krakow, aren't you? Certainly you don't lack in the brains or talents. So what is stopping you?"

For a while Grazyna didn't answer. Then she started with a low voice. "It's a curse. A family curse. One of my forefathers annoyed the wrong man. He was kind of a prankster, I assume not unlike your Sirius Black. Yes, I know about him. Fleur wrote about him a few times." She smiled weakly. "He was an Animagus, like many members of my family before him. But while most used it for combat, spying or simply to relax, he used it to play pranks and annoy his political enemies."

"So one of them took it away from him?" Harry guessed. While he adored his godfather, he understood how someone could react in such a way. Pranks often weren't especially funny for the victims.

Grazyna nodded: "From him and our family. I could still learn to be an Animagus, but after my first change I could never change back. Two family members learned this the hard way."

"That's awful."

Grazyna shrugged. "That's life." She forced a smile. "And what do you have in mind now, back in Prague?"

"Finding a ring," Harry growled.

.

Harry had – after reassuring nods from Hermione and Neville – explained Grazyna the whole Horcrux hunt matter and the destruction of the Horcrux hidden in the diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw. Naturally Grazyna knew about the artefact and was impressed that Daphne and Hermione would be allowed to study it. She actually looked like she would offer her left arm for such a chance – certainly she wouldn't be the only witch to do so.

"The destruction had a positive side effect," Harry explained calmly. "Similarly to when we cleansed the Horcrux from my head, I was again able to follow the links to the other Horcruxes. I already informed the team hunting for the wand of what I found out, and I hope it will be easier for them now." Harry had been disturbed to hear about the killed team members. His mind knew that losses were to be expected, but his heart wasn't willing to accept it.

"And were you able to follow the link to the Horcrux hidden in Prague as well?" Grazyna asked.

Harry nodded. "Yes, at least better than last time. It is still protected somehow, but it was… glowing. Like it knew of its brother's death." He walked to the wall where a map was showing Prague and the surrounding area. He pointed towards a neighbourhood near the edge of the city around a small hill and with a number of bigger green areas. Somewhere around here it is hidden. I had the impression that it was somewhere below the ground."

Grazyna nodded. "I'll procure some more detailed plans of the area."

"Perhaps he is using some old bunker," Hermione suggested.

"From World War II?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded.

"Would he use something this much Muggle?" Neville frowned.

"Dolohov is a racist, murderous pig," Hermione shrugged, "but he's clever."

"Alright," Grazyna sighed. "I'll try to get some old plans of the bunkers and dugouts back then. Perhaps we'll be lucky."

The trio of friends grinned. _We_. Grazyna was part of this now, it seemed.

.

_**Darfur – same time**_

.

Sheikh Malak followed Jerome through the camp of his tribe, a dozen of his family members, trusted warriors and counsellors trailing behind. He smirked as he noticed Jerome rubbing his right forearm, where a fresh scratch mark was visible.

"Exciting night?" he asked, his smirk intensifying.

Jerome shrugged. "You know her."

Malak actually did. Meryem had been a guest of his tribe for decades. According to his father, she simply appeared in his tent one day and helped his mother bring him into this world. It had been a very difficult birth and until her death twelve years ago his mother had been convinced that both she and her son owed Meryem their life. They weren't the only Asim doing this by far. "I heard you." Malak grinned. The whole tribe knew that the couple was very… agitated… at night. Jerome didn't even blush. After two centuries of being married to this very special woman, he lost all traces of bashfulness.

At last they entered the market place of the tiny village. Around a dozen families were living here; or had been living because now they were planning to relocate. They depended on two wells, one mostly used for watering the arid fields, the other one for drinking and cooking. The smaller one in the middle of the village had gone dry months ago and while the villagers stubbornly struggled to keep going, it simply wasn't enough. It would become another village deserted by his people. Now the whole village was waiting for him, their faces telling him that they had no clue what this was about either.

"Wait here," Jerome begged, before walking towards one of the huts. He called something, using that foreign language only Meryem and Jerome understood; and Yasmine. For an unknown reason Meryem had allowed her husband to start teaching Malak's little granddaughter the language as well. His thoughts were interrupted as Meryem left the hut, carrying a big wooden box. As they noticed Jerome simply watching his wife, two of the Asim warriors hastened to her side and offered to carry her burden. A single glare from Meryem convinced them to stop this nonsense.

_It's either very precious or weighty_, Malak mused, _or both_. Despite her more or less normal if well-toned looks, Malak knew that Meryem was stronger than three of his warriors combined. It was only one of her smaller specials. Slowly she put the box down, the lid clattering a little as it was loosely lying on the box.

"You love to keep us in suspense, don't you?" Malak smiled warmly.

Meryem simply grinned back and slightly bowed her head. "I wanted to show you something, Sheikh Malak, here is a present I got yesterday. And I'll need your help to activate it."

"Activate," Sheikh Malak wondered. His eyes searched the box for any hints. "From Scotland? Hermione?"

"Yes," Meryem nodded. "I gave her a gift before she departed. This is her way to reciprocate the gesture." Meryem had been happy to hear that Hermione had been able to solve her little furry problem. Bringing both human and cat side into harmony would allow her to grow. And she assumed it would bring Hermione and Neville together even closer, as the young man was already accepting his animal side as well.

Meryem put the lid aside and reached into the box, pulling out a big, very weird looking, stone. Malak guessed it to weight around two-hundred pound, as did his men who watched the show. Gently as it was a baby or some fragile pottery, she put it down. Only now did Malak notice that the little well had been reworked. It now offered a place for the stone to rest. _What could be the meaning of… stop. Hermione. Water bringer_.

"Yes," Meryem grinned. "Yasmine?" She called towards the hut, and seconds later his granddaughter appeared. She waived towards her family, not a hint of shyness on her face. Malak grinned. Yes, she was really Shadana's descendant. She certainly had the fiery temper and stubbornness of her great grandmother. And she had the special gift of her grandfather's family.

"Is this safe?" Malak asked a bit troubled. "The stone feels… wrong."

"It is. It only feels like this to you because it contains Hermione's gift," Meryem soothed his apprehension.

"This is water magic?" He asked, not daring to touch the surface.

"It is," Meryem responded. "However, she put something on the stone, making it that only a member of your family can activate it." She turned around towards the girl. "Yasmine, if you please. But remember: only a very small flame."

Yasmine nodded eagerly, offered her grandfather a toothy smile and walked to the stone. She looked quite cute standing there, concentrating on her special talent. She didn't use it very often, and wouldn't be allowed to train it before her eight birthday. It had actually been quite a shock when she used it for the first time, as it was mostly – but not always – passed on from father to son in their family. Suddenly a tiny flame appeared in her hand. Some of the villagers gasped. They knew about the gift of their Sheikh's family, but it was rarely used in the open. Slowly and carefully Yasmine moved her hand to the stone and allowed the little flame to leap onto a couple of runes that had started to glow as soon as she evoked her flame.

"Did I something wrong?" Yasmine asked timidly as nothing happened for some moments.

Meryem put a hand on her shoulder. "You were perfect. See…"

A first drop of water appeared on the stone's surface. It turned into a trickle, then into a small gurgle. The water trickled into the well, filling it slowly. It was not a stream, it wouldn't create a new lake, but it was a miracle nonetheless. It would help the villagers, and perhaps it would be enough. Perhaps this village wouldn't be deserted next summer.

_He had called Hermione a water bringer…_, Sheikh Malak mused, watching the water stone together with his granddaughter, Meryem and Jerome. _A water bringer she was indeed_.

.

_**Eighty-seven years later**_

.

With slow, scuffling steps Yasmine walked through the village. Like three generations ago, it was a tiny village, an unimportant village in the grand scale of things. To her, however, it was important, had always been. She was leaning heavily on her granddaughter's arm. She needed the support with her ninety-two years. Every year she visited the village, doing her duty. This year would be her last visit; she felt it in her bones. Her small great grandson was accompanying her. Hamza, unlike his mother, had inherited the family's gift. Today he would help Yasmine with her duty and next year he would do it on his own.

Hamza would light the flame to activate the stone. He would kindle the life-giving well, the well of Hermione the water bringer.

.

_**A/N**_

_I got the idea about the Congregation book title from an essay I had to write (among other things) to get my current job: Criticism - a due, a duty, and a responsibility_


	22. Chapter 22 To heal a broken mind

**To heal a broken mind**

.

_**Golden City – 2**__**nd**__** of September**_

.

"Yes, that's her."

Alecto Carrow looked exhausted, probably a fallout from the last full moon a few days ago. It concerned Ophelia more than she wanted to admit, to see how much strain Alecto's horrid condition had put on the woman. _Hopefully her trying up with Ildiko and her "third way of the harmony wolves" will help her to better cope with it_, Ophelia mused. It only strengthened her resolve to help Alecto escape Fenrir's claws permanently. Living among his tainted pack of maniac murderers and rapists would mean her end in no time – physically and emotionally. She wasn't against Werewolves per se, but Fenrir really had a knack for gathering the worst of his kind. The stress of transformation obviously created a bigger number of maniacs than your standard neighbourhood life.

"Naturally she's a bit older now and she didn't look very healthy last time I saw her," Alecto added and put the picture down. Somehow Ophelia had been able to acquire a passable picture of the abducted girl – together with her blackmailed Ravenclaw brother and his murdered mother. _They were a happy family back then_, Ophelia thought. _All this madness only to catch a useless fraud for our glorious master_. She felt torn between laughing and crying. Luckily Markus put an arm around her before she gave in to either feeling. Ophelia rested her head on his shoulder and inhaled his musky scent for a moment.

"Do you think she's still there?"

"I assume so," Alecto said with a curt nod. She wasn't certain why she wanted to help the girl. Alecto was certainly not a compassionate woman. Especially since the death of her brother, she felt torn between bouts of anger, sadness and depression. She certainly murdered and tortured her fair share in the past herself. Perhaps it was the similar fate that convinced her to at least try to help the girl – and the fact that she had gotten help herself when she had been at her lowest. It certainly had mellowed her view on squib cousins. "Fenrir himself and his group often changed their lair, but the whelps have always been at the same location. He was careful not to risk their safety. A few of them had family members among his pack, and even Fenrir is not stupid enough to annoy a werewolf mother."

"The question is," Markus interjected. "What shall we do with this information? We can't risk to simply deliver it to the DMLE. We can't be sure who has been bribed or blackmailed among their ranks."

"You mentioned this Ildiko knows Fabian Treskow," Alecto suggested. "Perhaps she has a way of safely contacting him."

Right after Markus' return and a first conversation with Ophelia – and a heated night of gratitude-sex – Alecto had been informed about her possible future. The news had stunned her. Until then she had believed that she had to live as a second-class citizen, caged and potion-drugged every full moon at best, or chained, beaten and endlessly raped by Fenrir at worst – until he got bored and left her to his pack. This third option sounded far too good to be true and she had pleaded for some time to think about it. She wasn't a happy-ending fairy princess. There had to be a hitch somewhere.

"_Alright, it's your future, your choice," Ophelia had calmly answered. "But don't forget: there is a time limit, and it's not a very generous one."_

"That's a possibility," Ophelia agreed. "We'll ask her next time."

Her eyes locked with Alecto's, silently asking whether she would be alone with Ildiko next time, or whether Alecto would be at her side. Yes, she had a few more weeks to decide, but the chances of escape were far greater now. For one, Dolohov was much occupied with his search for the Dark Lord. And second, he would expect an escape attempt the closest they got to the deadline. And in Ophelia's mind it was actually a very simple choice: everything was better than getting back into Fenrir's hands – even dying.

"Then we should start planning my escape, shouldn't we?" Alecto asked with a low voice, forcing herself to sound calmer than she felt.

"Alright, let's begin."

.

_**London – Heathrow – same time**_

.

She wore her cloak like a costume and not some regular clothes. And for her they certainly were anything but regular. Actually they merely were another reason for her to hate her sister. Because of her she was forced to wear these disgusting Muggle clothes and to use this contraption. She had decided to go by air because she expected the ways of international magical transport to be closely controlled by the DMLE. Yes, she could have tried to befool them by using a glamour or Polyjuice potion, but neither were fail proof. Her sister had been out of the country for the last six months and had no idea about the current conditions at home, especially not about the current security measures and whether they were still looking for her.

As far as Bella knew, the DMLE thought her to be still on the run, that she somehow had been able – and willing – to flee while their forces battled their way into the strongly defended base. As if she ever would betray her master. She would have fought to the end, and in case of her master's death, she would have committed a fighting suicide, taking as many of them with her as possible. No, there had been a sole reason for her not staying there: she had been unconscious when her sister found and abducted her.

_Sweet Narcissa_, Bella growled. She must have done this too loudly because some of the other passengers glanced in her direction, looking away hastily as she death-glared them into submission. _Filthy Muggles_, Bella sneered. _I should kill a couple of them later, simply to relax after having to spend hours in their presence_. The ride had been taxing on her nerves, with a far too friendly and chummy stewardess, obnoxious seatmates and a meal that didn't deserve its name. At least the sparkling wine had been acceptable.

For ten months she hadn't killed anybody, not a one since the raid on Longbottom Manor, since the blood traitor and the Mudblood killed her husband and maimed her arm. She had never loved Rodolphus, hadn't even liked him. It was, however, a question of principle. They had to pay and, in the end, die, for what they had done. No, she hadn't killed anybody for a long time – not even that ridiculous travel agent, not even bloody Narcissa.

Yes, Narcissa was still alive – more or less. A bit bloody, a bit beaten and certainly more than a bit crucioed, but Bella had left her behind. After all she was family, and while she had betrayed Bella, she did it out of sibling love. It had been the wrong decision but Bella was a reasonable woman, wasn't she? No, she hadn't killed her, but her revenge was sweet nonetheless. Narcissa would need weeks, if not months to get free and she would remember every minute of her captivity for the rest of her life.

Bella bend her steps towards the exit, to get away from this filthy scum as soon as possible.

She had comrades to find and her master to free.

_Great Britain, here I am again. Have you missed me?_

.

_**Prague – Mazur Manor – 4**__**th**__** of September**_

.

"She's still not coming."

Harry lowered the letter and struggled not to show his disappointment too openly. It was useless. His friends knew him too well and within seconds he found himself hugged by both of them, Hermione's hairs tickling and Neville's arms crushing him. He got surprised again and again by how strong his friend had become. Neville looked muscular and sturdy anyway, but somehow the strength of Mother Earth seeped into his very bones. He had been carrying around those two-hundred pound stones like they were a tea tray.

"At least it's not about your family," Neville said soothingly.

Harry agreed. Still, he would like to know what happened back in Ol' England, why Roxanne needed Daphne's presence so direly. "Apparently she has to prepare something, to train with Roxanne and can't even be disturbed by mail. They don't even know when she'll be able to follow us to Prague. This letter is from Sirius and if even he's not cracking any jokes…"

"It has to be a situation of life and death," Neville finished.

"Yeah," Harry sighed, "something like that."

Neville allowed him to stare out of the window for a while, before he broke the silence by clapping him on the shoulder. "Enough of this brooding, we have some exploration to do."

.

_**A wee bit later at the edge of Prague**_

The maps they got from Grazyna had been very helpful so far. Disguised as some run-of-the-mill tourists, they took some meandering paths through the quarter Harry had identified as their destination. It was relatively new, build in the short few years Prague had been the capitol of the "Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia". It was bounded by a small deserted casern to the south and an ex-ammunition factory to the north that now manufactured some parts for the Skoda factory in Pilsen. There were some green areas arranged around three dozen little mansions and a small shopping centre domineered by a butt-ugly town hall.

According to the maps Grazyna got through some dubious contact and with the help of some palm greasing, mostly to have her inquiry stay a secret, the whole area was tunnelled with small and not so small bunkers, foxholes and dugouts. It was their duty now to examine them as careful as possible, while not attracting any undue attention. _Easier said than done_, Harry mused. They had started in the south-west and from the beginning he had felt that they were right. Still, it wasn't easy to make a clear call of where to go from there.

"We could really use Daphne right now," Hermione complained with a small pout. She hated not to be able to solve a mystery on her own. "There is a kind of magical haze covering the whole quarter. I can feel it, but without some serious wand-waving I can't tell you its alignment and concentration."

"That would hardly be inconspicuous."

Hermione sighed: "that's exactly the problem. Daphne on the other hand…"

"Daphne isn't around right now," Harry grumbled. "We have to manage without her."

"Perhaps," Neville tried to conciliate his friends that now glared at each other, "we should simply continue to walk around, with our eyes open. We can have a look at the places where exits of those bunkers had been, if they are still walkable. Perhaps some of them are used by Theatre ensembles or other occupants like those in London. Or we'll detect something suspicious like guards."

"You're right, Nev," Harry's expression brightened as did Hermione's. "Let's go."

.

"I don't like their looks," Hermione mumbled into Neville's ear while clinging to her boyfriend's arm. They were walking a few steps ahead of Harry. Their friend was pretending to read a Muggle city map, fawning over the mansions left and right, spitting some nonsense about architecture and garden art. Daphne would be laughing on the floor just by listening to him. But it did the job and most passers-by didn't glance twice in their direction.

The people Hermione was speaking about belonged to a suspicious looking group of hooligans. They had in common a kind of rocker gang outfit, complete with colourful and violent logo, some rank badges and a collection of badly hidden weapons. They simply seemed to hang around together, drinking beer, and smoking non-filtered cigarettes. Ogling the women on the streets – Neville was still fuming about some not very chivalric comments a couple of them made towards Hermione – and verbally abusing the men, it was obvious they felt very safe from the police patrolling the streets. The question was: _why? Why did they feel safe?_

The simplest answer was: because someone hired them to watch the streets and paid the police to look the other way. The unknown gang – Harry intended to ask Grazyna about them – was distributed in about two-thirds of the area.

"Either they are protecting the real entrance," Harry had mused a few minutes earlier, "or they are a first defence distraction and the real entrance is in the north-western, unprotected part." They still weren't certain about the correct answer.

"Let's call it quits for today," Hermione moaned slightly.

"Sore feet?" Neville asked, teasing.

"You try to run in these for a day," Hermione growled, pointing towards her beige three-inch heels.

Neville actually liked the look. It lengthened her smooth legs and accentuated her cute bottom. He still continued to tease: "I don't think I could wear them."

"Oh no," Harry confirmed. "the colour wouldn't suit your eyes."

"Prats, the both of you!"

.

_**Somewhere in the Far East – 5**__**th**__** of September**_

.

Antonin Dolohov had never possessed a lot of patience. He never could endure dunderheads – or people that treated him like he was unimportant - lightly. Merlin, he was the future Minister of Magic and the Dark Lord's right hand man. _Didn't this Chink know how to treat him_? His eyes flaming he followed the young Chinese in his immaculate black suit through the corridors of this Muggle building. Antonin had no understanding why his Chinese "business partners" chose such a location for their business. He assumed that most of the people running around weren't even Magicals.

No, not running: moving at a measured step. The men were wearing the same kind of black Muggle suit, the women a similar black lady's suit with an impeccable white blouse. Most ignored them apart from stepping aside to make room. A few of them gave a curt nod to the young Chinese, but each and all of them completely ignored the Gajin following him. _No, Gajin was Japanese, not Chinese, wasn't it_? Antonin shrugged: _where is the difference, yellow slit eyes all the same_.

The young Chinese rounded a corner. At the end of the corridor two men were keeping guard beside a double door. They made Crabbe and Goyle senior look puny and nearly burst their suits as they moved to pull the door open. Dolohov found himself in a very business-like looking office with a beautiful sight on the city thirty-two floors below. _Hopefully the result is worth this humiliation_, he mused. _Let's get over with this._

.

"So, you want us to find Mister Riddle for you?"

Dolohov's eyes narrowed at how they addressed his master. He hadn't been impressed by the manners of his conversation partner so far. The young man who had led him into the office was silently waiting near the wall in a position of attention. The man questioning him was a Chinese as well, in his forties and – according to his basic understanding of Chinese culture and the positioning of his office – a higher-level echelon but certainly not at the top of this… company.

Dolohov pulled some papers and a small wooden box from his brief-case. He hated wearing Muggle attire but the invitation had demanded it. Now he understood why, with all those Muggle lackeys running around the place. "These are my information so far about the place where he is hidden. The box contains some memory vials about the messages I got. My astronomers assured me that he has to be somewhere around this place, within a thirty miles radius."

"I understand. We'll check this," the man nodded curtly. "Do you have any idea about the physical condition of Mister Riddle?"

"Apparently he is unable to move. We assume that he was bound to an object or transformed into one. I would expect it to be something sturdy like stone or metal. Other than that we don't know anything about his current appearance." Dolohov contemplated his dream messages for a while and added with an annoyed frown. "He seems to be in some kind of public space. You'll see in one of the memories that there are people looking at him, people like you, of all genders and age groups. Perhaps a museum…" He absolutely abhorred the idea of his master being some kind of curiosity in a Muggle museum. It was, however, something he could imagine from their foes. It would be something they'd do.

"I understand. We'll do our best to find him. I'll deliver these documents and memories to my experts this afternoon. I expect a first partial payment within twenty-four hours. 5,000 Galleons should be appropriate." Dolohov gulped. He had hoped to get off a little cheaper. "If we're able to find the exact location, I expect to get the final payment of 30,000 galleons on delivery – in cash or magical components, no money order, no slaves. The last ones have been more trouble than worth."

Dolohov paled a bit. 30,000 galleons was quite a chunk of money, especially now with Lucy Malfoy gone. He would have to send a message to Nott. He smiled nonchalantly. "That won't be a problem."

"I hoped to hear that," the man smiled thinly, his eyes telling him that a delay of the payment wouldn't be welcome. "See you in a week then."

.

_**Golden City – 7**__**th**__** of September**_

.

_He felt strong. He felt powerful. He felt invincible._

Ophelia had warned him about the side effects but it was still difficult to ignore the feeling. Physical Elixirs weren't difficult to brew, actually. They didn't demand especially rare components or a lengthy preparation time. The elixir of the bull he had inhaled like it was some special bland of coffee had been put together by clever Ophelia in barely an hour, mixing things liked pulverized bull horn, coca leaves and yellow curry.

The effect however was astonishing. He had to walk carefully else his heavy powerful steps would bounce off the ground. The door of his room he nearly unhinged as he left, still unused to his new strength. It was purely physical, however, this being the reason that most wizards didn't waste their time creating them. They weren't even part of the Hogwarts potions curriculum or the exams. Ophelia however had known how to brew them – his sweet, clever and stunning witch. It was actually the simplest solution to a dire problem: how to free Alecto Carrow from her prison cell.

He entered the small kitchen, sent the pair of house-elves away with a single glare, and put together a simple evening meal for Alecto. It wasn't really important what he gathered: she wouldn't eat it. Two minutes later he left the kitchen and directed his steps towards the prison tract of the lair. He passed several corridors and glanced left and right. There weren't too many of his "comrades" around but you could never know.

"Flint?"

Markus Flint stopped and turned around. _Just my luck_, he thought. Ophelia's brother had been left behind when Dolohov departed and now was in charge of the lair – more or less. Everybody knew that Dolohov neither trusted nor respected him, but pretence had to be kept up.

"Nott," he curtly nodded.

Nott glanced at the tray and lifted an eyebrow, silently demanding an explanation.

Flint shrugged: "Feeding time for our pet wolf."

"Your duty today?" Nott asked, as normally this was the job of one of the newbies.

Flint shrugged, struggling to keep a calm face: "lost a game."

"Have fun," Nott seemed to accept the explanation and walked away.

_Phew!_

.

"It's nothing personal, buddy."

Markus threw the tray away. It was broken, more shattered even. Hopefully the head of the guard was in a better condition. The young guard hadn't seen it coming. He certainly didn't expect to be floored with a tray tonight. Most of his comrades didn't expect pure physical violence, apart from exotics like McNair. The sadistic executioner had found his violent end nearly a year ago – Markus had actually cheered back then and sent a bunch of flowers to Andromeda Tonks and Hermione Granger, anonymously naturally.

He opened the first door and entered the little living/sleeping room. In front of him was the reason for his little elixir. Usually, Alecto would be found in this part of her "domicile". It would have been easy to free her. However, they had chosen this day because Dolohov was away for a few days, making the actual escape far easier. The sly bastard however had decided to confine her to the back, more secure part of her prison. There was only a cat flap for feeding, a mattress for sleeping and a bucket for… ahem.

He already smelled the sweet flavour of the untamed woman, as he studied the sturdy door. Only Dolohov had the key and using an Alohomora spell would alarm the whole lair. He shut the first door to keep the following noises from reaching clueless ears and opened the cat flap.

"Alecto, are you awake?"

"Wh…Markus?"

"Yeah, get going. Go to the wall beside the door and stay there."

"Why…"

"Do it," he growled. Markus waited for her to comply, before he pumped up his chest and made a few steps back. _Here it comes_, he thought, a smile on his lips. With thundering steps he rushed towards the door and hit it shoulder first. _Ouch, that hurt!_ He didn't stop, didn't react to Alecto's question what he was doing, but pulled back and rushed against the door again. There was much dust this time and he felt the door vibrating. He lengthened the distance, increased the speed and hurled himself against the door with all his potion-induced might.

With a loud bang it burst open. Markus needed a moment to gather his senses. He turned around. Alecto was watching him open-mouthed. From this direction it would have impossible even for a Werewolf to force the door open.

"Sorry we couldn't forewarn you," Markus told her, not looking very sorry. "Gather your things, we have to go – now."

.

_**St. Mungo's – Waiting room – 8**__**th **__**of September **_

.

_**Present**_

"Everything will be alright with your mum."

Joseph Hardigan's calm and confident voice was enough to sooth Ron's nerves, at least a little. He gave his tutor a curt nod and stopped running around like a headless chicken. However, he was unable to sit down even now. That would simply be too much to ask from him. He ignored the rest of his family and concentrated on the one man he trusted right now to honestly care for his mother and him.

"Why does it take this long?" He asked, not completely able to suppress the shudder rocking his body and the tears escaping his eyes. In his eyes it wasn't very manly behaviour, but he didn't care anymore. He had only his Mum left; he couldn't lose her too.

"Healer Prewitt told you it would take some hours. They have to be very careful."

"I shouldn't have…" _Allowed it. I should have prevented it. I should have found another option_.

"It was the right decision."

_Was it? Really?_

.

_**11 days ago**_

_Rosmelda Prewitt left everything behind as the call reached her. Molly. Something had happened to Molly, something serious. And Ron apparently wouls only allow someone he trusted near his mum. Rosmelda was close to neither Molly nor Ron, but she had been the one to help the boy and was still one of the few family members that spoke with both of them. It was a mix of compassion, family ties and her healer-instinct, but in the end it only counted that she had never rejected them – unlike most of his siblings. _

_Slamming the door, Rosmelda rushed into the emergency and stopped dead cold. A single glance was enough to tell her how serious this was. Ron was beside himself with concern, shaking wildly and deathly pale. The treating healer looked like she was struggling with the decision to continue the treatment or simply resign. _

_And Molly? Rosmelda's cousin emitted an aura she had seen far too often in the past, the magical aura of someone ready to push open the last door – death's door._

.

_**10 days ago**_

"_What is she doing here? I don't want this snake near my mum."_

_Ron was fuming, spitting in pure rage and struggling against Hardigan's iron grip. Like his – former – family, Joseph Hardigan had arrived at St. Mungo's only hours after Molly's admission. Since then Ron had mostly ignored his siblings, had barely exchanged a few words with Bill, Charlie and Percy, while glaring at the twins and Ginny. Only Arthur got a longing look from time to time, but so far Ron hadn't mustered the courage to approach him._

_And now nobody else than Roxanne Pinegrew had entered the ward, wearing the robe of a medical consultant instead of her usual teacher's robe. She flinched back for a moment and frowned. "I have no idea what you're speaking about, Mister… Prewitt." Roxanne needed a moment to remember what his current last name was, since he was a Weasley no more. "Senior Healer Prewitt called me, that she needed my assistance. What about I have no idea."_

"_That I did," came Rosmelda's voice from the sick room. _

_Instantly the hated invader was forgotten, as Ron addressed Rosmelda: "how is Mum?"_

"_Unchanged, Ron, I'm sorry."_

"_But you have to help her," Ron bawled._

"_And I intend to," Rosmelda assured him. "That's the reason I called Roxanne. I'll need her help to rescue Molly." _

_Ron reeled back. Rescue. He would have toppled without Hardigan's grip. Rescue. She said rescue. So far Rosmelda hadn't admitted how close to death his mother was. "But how… what…"_

"_I have to use her medical screening spell, Ron," Rosmelda explained softly. Ron wasn't stupid and right now he needed an explanation, she realized, else she risked a complete shutdown of his mind. _

_Ron knew what she was speaking about. He had seen that spell in action already, had even seen Rosmelda use it on himself. "But you already know the spell."_

"_I can use the spell alright. But Roxanne was the one to invent it. She's far better at it, at adapting the spell where I would hit the wall."_

"_Ron," Hardigan put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "You want to be treated as an adult, act like one. Nobody expects you to like this, to like her," he pointed towards Roxanne. "But she's willing to help Molly. Isn't that the most important part?"_

_Arthur and Ron's siblings watched the show with wide eyes. Apparently Ron had really started to change. Instead of exploding like he would have done in the past, they saw him weighing Hardigan's words for a while, before he gave the curtest nod. "But I want to watch it."_

"_You may watch the examination, but not the operation itself," Rosmelda decided. "That would be too dangerous for Molly. We can't risk the slightest distraction."_

_With this Ron could live._

.

_**Present**_

Another two hours they waited. Three. Four.

Even calming draughts didn't really help. Ron looked up from his cup of cacao. It had long gotten cold. Glancing around, he saw the rest of his family. Bill and Charlie were the calmest. In the corner they spoke with Arthur, who had looked like fainting for hours. The twins had been ordered to leave. They simply hadn't been able to sit still for a minute. Percy was slightly apathetic. He hadn't moved for the last hour and his face didn't show any emotion, looked more like a wax mask. Ron knew from the past that this was a really bad sign and announced an imminent nervous breakdown. The last time Percy had been like this was the days before his NEWT.

The worst was Ginny, however. She had been very close to her mother until their… quarrel. It needed no genius to notice her struggle between deep concern and the decision not to care about the person she had called "Mum" for fifteen years. Ron still hated her for her part in his expulsion. However, he hated himself as well for his cowardice in Hogsmeade. Perhaps he deserved a second chance. Perhaps not. He wasn't certain anymore after endless hours with Joseph and his mind healer. Ginny, however, was still his little sister, a sister he had promised to protect. To this day he remembered his promise to Molly to protect her, a promise he made before Ginny's first year, a promise he broke back then only days after school started. Ginny had renounced him, but he had never reciprocated the gesture.

Ron glanced in Joseph's direction. The elderly man nodded. He seemed to know what was going through Ron's mind. He always did these days. Slowly Ron left his place. Everybody looked up and in his direction, apprehension gripping them as he hesitantly walked towards his sister. Ginny looked like a deer caught in headlight, but didn't move. Ron stopped in front of her. He struggled. Then, in a slow and unthreatening move, he reached down and pulled Ginny into his arms. She tensed, but didn't dodge the gesture.

"She'll be alright, Ginny," Ron uttered hoarsely. "She has to."

"But what if…" Ginny was barely able to say, being interrupted by her big brother.

"No… no if," his voice got a tad stronger. "Daphne saved you. She and her mother will save Mum as well." To say his statement shocked his family, would be an understatement. Only Joseph didn't look surprised, but very proud instead.

"We simply have to believe."

.

_**8 days ago**_

_Hesitantly, like they expected some kind of death sentence, Arthur and Bill, Ron and Joseph, entered the small conference room. Healer Prewitt, Spiritualist Nowles, Roxanne and Daphne Pinegrew, Matron Pomfrey as well as a couple of other healers were present. All of them looked very concerned with that aura of professional assurance only partially covering it. Daphne watched Ron enter and was a tad surprised that her presence didn't evoke any bad reaction. She had expected something else after how he greeted her mother._

"_Please sit down," Healer Prewitt greeted them. She waited for them to comply, Hardigan sitting between Ron and his family, before she activated a magical diagram that hovered above the table in the middle. Even Ron knew by now that it showed a brain – a human brain._

"_This is Molly's brain. At least this is how it would look being healthy. This," she made a single gesture and the diagram changed, causing some gasps among the onlookers, "is how her brain is right now."_

_She stayed silent for a moment, allowing them to have a good look. Ron saw… something… pervade her brain. It looked like the Giant Squid, only far smaller. In parts it was covering the brain, in parts it seemed to bore into it. _

"_This is a so-called Araneus Cerebri. It's a rare magical disease afflicting the brain," Rosmelda explained calmly. "Even Spiritualist Nowles didn't meet more than a dozen cases of it. It's a mix of a brain tumour and a parasite living from Molly's magic and brain fluids, a variant of the non-magical brain cancer. Usually it starts as a small gene defect, so we'll have to examine all children to make certain that they havn't inherited it. In 99% of the cases it never goes active, as it needs rare conditions to do so – like the presence of a Dementor, a combination of dark spells or some rare potion ingredients. Something of this, apparently, happened to Molly in the past. It happened a few years ago and now reached the critical stage."_

_Arthur looked very ill. Ron asked shakily: "but it's treatable, yes?"_

_Rosmelda looked pleadingly in Nowles direction. The old woman sighed and explained calmly. "From the twelve cases I know about, only seven were treated. The others were too far gone. From the seven treated cases, two died because of the operation, four had very serious brain damage afterwards, and only one survived quite alright." _

_Ron looked shell-shocked, his lips unable to ask, to say anything. Luckily, Nowles continued. "This was however before Roxanne invented her spell. She adapted it successfully and now we're able to see the… the tumour quite clearly. We can target it specifically while the other healers had to operate in the dark."_

"_So you can operate her now?" Ron allowed a hint of hope to seep into his voice._

"_The three of them, yes," Nowles responded. "Rosmelda will do the proper operation. Roxanne will assist with her spell, as only she is right now able to operate it at its full potential. And Daphne…"_

_Ron turned towards the girl. Ron had nearly forgotten her presence so far. He blinked like an owl, but said nothing._

"_Daphne will lead the way. She'll be the hand guiding Rosmelda's scalpel."_

.

_**Present**_

In the early stages it had been an unfamiliar feeling. Rosmelda Prewitt was so vastly different from Nowles, her mother or grandma, not to speak of Harry. The senior healer was a grown, very strong and confident woman. Her sharp mind made its own decisions and was unaccustomed to trust another mind in such a decisive manner, especially the mind of a teenager. Added to this came the mistrust after the abuse Dumb-dork had heaved on her with his spells and potions. Daphne would like to curse him for that alone. They needed days to overcome this, to become a real team and not three witches working side by side. When the operation started, there could only be trust and one common direction, no hesitation and no flinching back.

For seven days – days Molly spent suspended in a magical induced coma while a stasis spell prevented her disease from further deteriorating – they trained. Seven days Ron Prewitt had spent complaining and urging them to start the operation. Without Joseph Hardigan's help it would have been quite unbearable.

They still weren't as close as Daphne and her three friends had gotten over the years, but according to Nel it would be enough. Spiritualist Nowles decided that it would be Rosmelda who executed the operation, as she knew Molly better. There could come up a situation where the trust between Molly and Rosmelda would prove decisive. Like before Roxanne would be the supportive one in this dangerous endeavour. She would cast the spell; offer Rosmelda the information about the progress and – perhaps the most important part – take care of the mindlink between all three witches, allowing Daphne to concentrate on the navigation.

_Yuck – the feeling was a real nasty one_, Daphne decided.

_Araneus Cerebri_, Rosmelda had called it: brain spider, because of its appearance, despite it not being a real animal. It felt more like an amoeba, cold to touch and a bit slick. The senior healer was close behind as they walked through the brain, using the lines of her mother's spell like a road. In here, Rosmelda looked like a butcher, with a heavy hatchet in her hand and blood and other fluids about whose nature Daphne avoided to think about dripping down her legs. One by one she cut through the sucker pads connecting this tumour/parasite/whatever to Molly's brain.

"It" didn't like the treatment one bit and started to fight back after a while, to redo the damage Rosmelda dealt with. At first they had tried to spell some kind of barrier between spider and brain, but it became clear very soon that this was just too cumbersome for Rosmelda in the long run. Using this tactic she would collapse under the strain long before the operation was finished. So Daphne had – quite successfully – started to use a different tactic. She used a very weak flame spell, cauterizing the cut sucker pads and making them unable to reconnect. In this case her weak fire magic was a benefit, as she had to be careful not to damage Molly's brain.

Startled and feeling a bit happy, Daphne noticed that they had just finished the first, easier part. The cap of the brain-spider was loose. Now they had to take care of the "legs" reaching down deep into the brain. This part would be very dangerous and decide on Molly's mental future.

"Let's rest for a moment," Rosmelda decided and Daphne complied. For a moment she thought about Molly's family.

_I hope everything is alright out there._

.

Someone was out there; Daphne felt the invisible presence. Someone was watching them. It couldn't be the brain-spider. It had no real mind of its own. Even its defensive behaviour was only instinctively controlled. Daphne shuddered as she thought about the "Bella" presence in the mind of Alice Longbottom or the Horcrux in Harry's head. This felt nothing like that. So, there was only one rational explanation… Molly.

Her mind turned back to the details Nel had explained, details about the spider's legs.

"_In Molly's case there are three of them. They reach far into the brain itself and constitute the most dangerous part of the disease, connecting the main tumour with three nerve centres of her brain. They were the reason for three of the four cases of brain damage I dealt with in the past. Like the healer has problems to define the line between brain substance and tumour, so is the mind of the sick person unable to realize that the tumour is a foreign substance. It is drenched with brain fluids and saturated with the magic of the ill person. More often than not, the magic of the ill fights the operation, in this way even worsening the outcome. It would have been far easier to extract the legs with the cooperation of the ill. This has never been possible so far._

The message had been clear: get Molly's assistance.

"Molly? We need your help."

.

_**Molly**_

She was afraid, so deathly afraid.

She was in pain, had been in pain for… she was unable to remember a time without that piercing, agonizing pain. It was distracting, didn't allow her to think clearly, and made her lash out at everybody around. _He_ had been calming, _his_ magical aura soothing her nerves. It had been one reason why she trusted _him_, why she felt the need to be near _him_ at all times. _He_ was gone now, had been for weeks, and the pain returned tenfold.

For days and weeks she had fought the pain, struggled to remain in control of her mind. It was so exhausting, and in the end she had lost the fight, a fight she was never meant to win. Her body had simply collapsed one day, the string cut that had kept her upright so far. Like an unconnected observer she had watched the healers taking her to St. Mungo's; she had watched them taking care of her body. They had been unable to heal her. The pain was still there. She had yelled, screamed, and begged; she pleaded them to take away the pain, to end this ordeal and give her peace. Merlin, in the end she had begged for a clean death, but nothing of that had happened. Perhaps they hated her; perhaps they wanted her to be in pain. Molly wept. She felt so alone.

And now there were foreigners in her mind. There were three of them. One was at the edges, barely noticeable for her. The second, feeling similar to the first one but younger, was deep in her mind. It had a soothing aura, a friendly aura of someone caring for her. Molly was nearly willing to approach her, to trust her. Yet, however, the fear was still dominating her actions. Perhaps it was an act to lure her out. And the third one: she knew this one. Her memory was failing her. She was unable to concentrate on the past, to recognize her, but her feeling told her: this was someone she could trust.

"Molly?"

She heard the voice. It was like a whisper, like a caressing touch of a soft hand. Molly closed her eyes for a second and relished the feeling.

"We need your help."

_My help?_ Molly mused, slightly confused. _How could I help her? It's I who needs help. Pain, so much pain!_

"Rosmelda is here, Molly."

_Rosmelda? Did she know a Rosmelda?_ The memory was near the surface but moments later it slipped her grasp and sank far below again.

"You know her, Molly. Rosmelda Prewitt. The healer. She helped Ron get better."

_Ron, _Molly remembered Ron. _Her little Ronnikins_. Despite the pain a little smile appeared on her face. Yes, Ron had been ill. And someone had healed him. He was better now. Perhaps she could get better too. A tiny sliver of hope.

"He needs you, Molly. Ron needs you. Your family needs you."

_Family? I don't have a family_. Molly sobbed. There is only Ron left. Even… she… Molly was unable to remember her name, only saw a flash of Aunt Muriel's face… renounced her.

"No, Molly. You still have a family."

Pictures entered her mind, flooded her, pictures of a man… Arthur. He was looking pale and sitting with two young men… Bill… Charlie. And there was… Percy. She remembered the signs, the bland look, forcing aside every emotion else he would faint.

"Gi…Ginny?"

It was Molly's first audible reaction and she felt the relief in the foreign voice. "She's there as well, Molly." New pictures emerged from the turmoil that was her mind just now. A girl, a boy… Ron. He was hugging the girl. "Daphne saved you. She and her mother will save Mum as well," he said.

"You… Daphne?"

"I'm Daphne, yes. I'm here to help Rosmelda, to help you. But we can't do it without your assistance."

"The pain – it will go away?" Molly sounded like a frightened girl, a girl that only wanted the pain to end; a girl that wanted to belief the healer to end the ordeal, to make it all good.

"We will end the pain, Molly. I promise." There was a surge of emotion that accompanied the words, emotions emanating from this Daphne and from Rosmelda. Molly allowed herself to hope again, to hope that this would end and that she would have a family again.

"What can I do?"

.

_**In the forests near Prague – 9**__**th**__** of September**_

.

_**Present**_

"Are you alright?" Markus asked, his voice full of concern for the woman he cared so much about.

Ophelia Nott didn't look up. She sat there, bent-forward with her long hair hiding her face. She shook her head weakly and a sob escaped her. Markus sat down at her side and put an arm around her shoulders. Ophelia put her head on his chest, her tears drenching his shirt.

"It was his decision," Markus whispered soothingly. "Both times, his alone."

Ophelia nodded, unable to speak. She knew this. It had been her brother who decided to make that pact with Dolohov. It had been her brother who was willing to trap her with his oath. And it was her brother who had to suffer the consequences of his decisions in the end. At the end of the day it had been her brother who decided to let her go, irrespective of the consequences. She felt guilty for all the times she had damned him in the past, him and his stupid plans and faulty decisions. In the end he had stood to his duty to protect his little sister.

And now he was dead.

.

_**Flashback – 36 hours ago**_

"I…," he gulped. "I can't let you go, Pheli. I really can't"

Ophelia calmly watched her brother, her own wand lowered for now. She would defend herself. She would free Alecto today, but if she could avoid a fight with her own brother, stupid and irresponsible as he was, she would do that. He was standing there, right in her path, his wand raised but wavering. He looked pale and very ill, like he would faint any minute. She had a hunch about the reason but hoped she was wrong.

_He couldn't have been that stupid?_ Ophelia sighed. She was speaking about her brother. Naturally he had been that stupid – again.

"Let me go, Theo," Ophelia urged him. "Alecto can't stay here. You know what Fenrir would do to her. And I can't stay either. I won't marry Antonin. I won't become his trophy wife. And certainly I won't sacrifice my future, and my dreams, to your ambition." She had raised her voice at the end and Theo Nott flinched from the rage that was rolling off her body in heavy waves. He had disappointed her – again.

"But I promised," he whispered weakly. He started shaking now, proving Ophelia's suspicion to be right.

"You made an oath?" She asked, her voice sounded defeated. Alecto surprised Ophelia and stayed still and silent so far. Perhaps she had simply resigned and didn't expect any positive outcome for her. Perhaps she realized that this was a very serious moment for the Nott siblings, a moment that wouldn't decide about her fate only.

"Yes," his voice cracked. His eyes pleaded with her. Like Ophelia he wanted to avoid a fight. He loved his sister and despite all bad decisions of the past, all half-baked plans and worthless ambitions: he wanted her best, or at least what he thought to be her best. Not that he ever understood her stubbornness, her independence that was unbecoming of a pureblood lady. A brother had to do what his duty was. His father had taught him this.

"I'm sorry, Theo," a single tear rolled down her cheek. For a moment hope budded in Theo's heart, only to get viciously crunched by her next words. Ophelia squared her shoulders: "but I promised myself that I would never again allow others to rule my life as you did in the past. I won't pay the price for your stupidity and cowardice. I won't…"

Theo shook his head. "Pheli…"

"No, I won't," Ophelia growled, now determined again. She grabbed Alecto's arm. "We'll leave. Goodbye, Theo." Staring him into the eyes, daring him to try anything and ready to defend herself, she walked onward and shouldered him away. The whole time he pointed his wand at her chest but didn't say a single word. He looked … sad.

"TRAITOR!"

Ophelia dodged the sudden attack from behind but felt something cut into her shoulder. It immediately started to bleed heavily.

"NO!"

Theo screamed and reciprocated the fire. Ophelia whirled around and pushed Alecto aside, as she was defenceless without her wand. Two junior Death Eaters had entered the corridor, both able duellists and loyal to Avery. Luckily their mentor wasn't accompanying him. Avery had hated Dolohov's decision to make Nott his second-in-command. He assumed that it would have been his rightly position, didn't understand the simple fact that Dolohov saw nothing more in him than a vicious beast, appropriate for the dirty work but nothing more.

Theo hit one of them with a cutting curse, but howled himself a second later. _He wasn't hit_, Ophelia thought with a frown, while shielding her brother and herself from the next attacks. Theo used a bone-breaker on the leg of the other one, only to go down himself. _It's the oath_, Ophelia realized with horror. "Stop, Theo, you're killing yourself."

"Go, Pheli," he urged her instead of complying. A third attack from him, a third wound on his own body. Nose and ears had started to bleed, the magical oath that bound him to Dolohov's wishes already doing its job.

Ophelia hesitated for a moment. She didn't want to leave him like this, but this time it was Alecto who dragged her away.

"Farewell, little sis," Theo said, barely loud enough to be heard by her.

"Farewell, big bro," Ophelia answered equally low. She didn't look back.

.

_**Present**_

"How is she doing?" Ildiko gently asked.

Markus watched Ophelia for a moment. She was sleeping now, exhausting from the conversation and memories of her brother's death: "Still grieving. She'll need some time to recover." He addressed Ildiko again: "what about Alecto?"

"It will need some time as well. She's a very angry woman," Ildiko sighed, "frightened as well and in pain. Gaia will help her, I'm certain, but it could easily take several months until she's healed again."

"She wasn't a nice woman before all of this started, I have to warn you. The Carrows are renowned for their madness and sadism running through their family blood."

"Yes," Ildiko sighed again. "I could feel that. Gaia will help with that as well, I'm certain about it." She narrowed her eyes but didn't look unkindly as she asked: "And what about you? How is your healing going?"

Markus felt confused for a moment. He concentrated onto his own mind and emotions for a while, enjoying that Ildiko was content to wait for him to come to a decision. It wasn't the forced patience of someone hoping that he would be fast with his brain-storming, but honest felt patience, the patience seated deep in the heart, that came from the knowledge that some things shouldn't be rushed. "I feel better now," he said in the end. "It's different around here. The world isn't good and easy; there are still problems to solve and pain to endure, but for the first time I'm feeling hope." He pulled the sleeve back and unveiled the dark mark tainting his arm. "Some things however remain."

"Perhaps not forever," Ildiko smiled softly. "We'll visit a very special location in a few days. Alecto will stay there for a while for her healing. If you wish we can address your personal problem as well. Think about it until then. You have to be certain about the step. You have to be certain, really certain, that you want to leave your old life behind. And you should find something to bind your future to – or someone." There was a knowing smile for a second.

"Consider it carefully."

.

_**Somewhere far away**_

.

_She was running through the manor again. A lady didn't run. A pureblood lady walked graciously. She knew no hurry, no panic. Her face was always a little haughty and always showed a small smile that didn't reach the eyes. It showed no stress and certainly no fears either._

_Right now however all of this was forgotten. Where was he? What was happening to him? The screams were permeating the air, horrid screams full of pain and agony, filled with the knowledge that he wouldn't die easily. _

_Pushing them open to have a look into the rooms, she rushed from door to door. There were dozens of them, corridor after corridor, and stairs after stairs. There was no sign of him, only those screams. She followed another flight of steps, her hurried rush through a smaller ballroom, with mirrors lining the walls, mirrors that showed a woman in panic. She pushed open another door, entered another room, and there he was. He was on the ground, struggling, and flipping back and forth under the curses._

"_Crucio!" A mad cackle accompanied the spell, followed swiftly by his renewed screams of pain. The woman in black turned around and showed a toothy smile. She was enjoying this, enjoying it far too much._

"_There you are," she cackled. "We have been waiting for you … Cissy."_


	23. Chapter 23 Negotiations

_**A/N**_

_ continental-line: yes, the story has gotten far more extensive than originally planned. I started to write it 38 months ago and it encompasses now a whopping 900,000 words. However, unlike the mentioned soap-operas, it has a definite (and planned) end._

_Dolores Umbridge is at an end, Molly followed last chapter. We're nearing the solution of the last two Horcruxes, with Harry already being "healed/purged" of his. All in all there are only about a dozen chapters left. With one chapter every two weeks, I hope to end this trilogy this summer._

_However: I don't intend to write something again of this magnitude. I assume, stories written around 100k words (like my HP/DA-Crossover) are more agreeable to most readers. This trilogy got too complicated over time, with too many details and interwoven storylines._

_By the way: I would like some reviews about the "Molly-solution". It was something I planned since the start of part two, more than two years ago, but perhaps the hints back then (headaches) have been too sparsely._

.

_**Somewhere in Africa – 9**__**th**__** of September**_

.

"Wait!"

Martin Scott halted his steps and turned around, an annoyed expression on his face. The pair of Aurors following him stopped as well and waited for a decision on how to continue their advance to be taken.

"Better stay away and watch from afar only," Shaeffer explained, glancing to the right where a second team was already watching the show. Their duty was to catch any escapees. The French Vampire actually looked a bit concerned.

"Kings said that…"

"Shacklebolt isn't around right now," Shaeffer interjected. "He doesn't know the Baron like I do." He narrowed his eyes and watched the pair of Vampires three dozen paces ahead. "The Baron is in a dangerous mood. Nobody other than Madsin should be around him right now. They don't need our help with this scum and you certainly don't want to lose your men in the crossfire."

Scott didn't like this but he trusted Shaeffer after weeks of teamwork. The last few days had been a hellish trip already and Shaeffer was certainly right about one matter: his French boss was in a dangerous mood. So far he had only destroyed some furniture and that one lorry. One mercenary hadn't been willing to spill the beans until the Baron lifted the small lorry he had been hiding in and tossed it into the next shack. After that he had been quite talkative. And Scott still had problems to believe it really happened despite having been right there.

Now the Baron was standing over there, examining their destination: a medium-sized reinforced building, formerly the HQ of a local war boss, now a strongpoint of Madam Guille's forces. The Baron was after one of her lieutenants. He was hiding in the building – behind strong walls, two dozens of his men and at least three MG nests. According to their information gathering he had at least one wizard and a trio of neonate at his back and call – young Vampires without much experience, but still a danger for any Muggle or Wizard. Leading his men into this death trap would ensure a casualty or two, he feared. Still, it was his job, wasn't it?

"Take care of the MG nest over there and the sniper to the left, if you absolutely can't keep your feet still. But keep away from the building," Shaeffer sighed. He had to remember that such patience didn't come easily to most warriors. It was a sign of a long life and successful survival.

Martin Scott had barely time to nod, before the shout "For Amélie" pierced the air. Two whirlwinds raced towards the building. For a couple of seconds nothing happened. Then someone fired a gun, a second and third following. As the duo of Vampires reached the half distance to the building, the MGs started to open fire. Hastily, Martin sent his French Auror onto the sniper, while he and his British colleague went after the MG nest that was hidden far to the right on a small bleak hill. He had no time to watch the show. Hopefully one of his colleagues from the other team would be willing to share the memory later.

.

"Merde!"

Richard Madsin cursed. He lifted his broad shield – crafted from some special alloy and reinforced with magical runes he merely knew how to activate – and drew his sword, while hastening behind his liege lord. While he had his special shield and his armour to offer a modicum of protection against the gunfire – and he wasn't willing to trust them not to use some special anti-vampire ammo – his boss confided in his senses and reflexes to dodge the attacks. This and his incredible speed that Pascal now made formidable use of. Jumping left and right, doing summersaults and backflips or simply bending his body in a manner that would be the envy of every ballerina, he charged the building, so far not even drawing his weapons.

Apparently, more and more mercenaries took their positions and the gunfire intensified. A dozen heavy slugs smashed against Richard Madsin's shield and a single salvo from an assault rifle hit his left thigh, making him stumble for a moment. Cursing again, he increased his step, knowing that he had no chance to fetch his boss before he reached the house. Richard pulled a weapon from his back. It looked like a blunderbuss from the 16th century and had been in his possession nearly as long. However, it relied on pure alchemy and was far more dangerous than a simple black powder weapon. Without lowering his speed, he lifted the weapon with one hand, trusting his strength to fire it this way without breaking his wrist.

The first explosion was followed by a second one as the grenade hit the reinforced door and opened it in a crude and noisy manner. The missile had missed Baron Pascal only by a step or two but he never faltered in his advance, trusting his knight's aim. Richard knew that he could have used a modern bazooka for the same effect – he even knew how to use such a contraption. But this weapon simply was more fun for him and it constantly flabbergasted his enemies.

For a few moments the fire stopped, the mercenaries shocked by the explosion and more than a few of them getting injured or killed. With another "For Amélie!" Pascal raced towards the now open door and jumped into the building. The following slaughter wasn't a nice sight.

.

"Here is your prisoner."

Pascal shoved the pathetic looking man into Kingsley's arms. He looked quite beaten and an ear was missing, but he was alive – that was all that counted.

"Interrogate him," Pascal snarled. "Call me if he is… uncooperative."

Kingsley nodded. He had the feeling that this wouldn't be the case. He was a bit unhappy about his Aurors staying back and leaving the real fight to the Vampires. In the end however only the result counted – that and the fact that only two of his men were slightly injured. Most of the mercenaries had been killed, a few of them getting used for blood-healing of the attacking Vampires. But his Auror team was mostly alright. Nothing his field medic couldn't easily handle. Baron Pascal looked calmer now than this morning. Obviously it was the same for Vampires and mere mortals: a little fight was an appropriate tool for stress relief.

Now he only had to ask this man the right questions. He had to find Madam Guille's lair very soon – before Dolohov and his merry men appeared on the battlefield, making the fight even more difficult. It was something he had been warned about.

Kingsley had no idea how wrong they were about Dolohov's destination. Else he wouldn't have been so content with the current progress.

.

_**St. Mungo's – still 9**__**th**__** of September**_

.

It was the same conference room they had used a week ago. It was more or less the same gathering of family members and healers as well, with a few more Weasleys added to the mix. Again, Ron had Joseph Hardigan at his side, shielding him from the rest of his family. All of them, however, were eager to hear more about Molly's current condition. So far they only knew she was alive.

The operation had gone on and on for a gruelling and nerve-wracking nine hours. Only minutes after finishing, Daphne had succumbed to magical exhaustion and lost consciousness. Healer Prewitt had looked like a walking ghost, and only Roxanne Pinegrew had been able to speak coherently. Only, she wasn't able to tell them more than the simple facts of Molly being alive and the operation having gone well – as far as she knew.

While Spiritualist Nowles had immediately examined Molly afterwards, she hadn't answered any questions and waited for Daphne to wake up again. The girl had slept for more than fifteen hours, and had been forced by her mother to eat something, before she was allowed to examine the patient and share diagnostics with Nowles. Now it was time to do the same with the family. Ron's stomach made a summersault as Daphne sent him a comforting smile. This wouldn't be a horror message. He felt immense relief rushing through his body and had no qualms to sob about it.

"This," Daphne made a small gesture and her mother activated a magical hologram "is how Molly's brain looked before the operation." The family remembered the picture all too well and still felt ill thinking about it. "And this is how it was looking right after the operation…"

The picture changed. The tumour had vanished, completely as far as Ron was able to see, but the brain looked a bit… rough, like someone had used sandpaper on it.

"…three hours after the operation…six hours…twelve…one hour ago," in succession Daphne showed them a couple more pictures and the brain seemed to heal – and quite fast.

"As you see, the brain has been injured in the operation and it has been strongly affected by the tumour. Nel," she gestured towards Spiritualist Nowles "immediately initiated the recovery process, and the use of the nerve tonic Professor Snape invented for the treatment of nerve damage after long exposure to the Cruciatus Curse was of much help. She'll continue the treatment together with Healer Prewitt for the next four to six weeks. By then it should have recovered mostly from the disease and operation, and I'll be able to start the fine-tuning."

"Right now the brain has to find the strength to recover from the ordeal and to continue without potions," Healer Prewitt continued. "I will be able to heal the bulk of the damage. However, we want Daphne to finish the healing as her abilities will allow her to find the smaller points of nerve damage. This way Molly should be able to fully recover."

"She'll be alright again?" Ron asked hoarsely.

Nowles shared a look with Daphne and Healer Prewitt before she nodded. "She'll need a few weeks before she'll be able to leave the hospital – two months at most. After that it will be quite a long road to full recovery, as she'll certainly need some peace and patience to relearn everything. Have no doubt: there will be repercussions. There will be times when she can't remember something and in the beginning she'll have problems with coordination and balance. It will be like the after effects of an apoplexy. In the end, however, we are quite sure that she'll fully recover."

.

They had spoken about the details how to continue the treatment. Daphne would stay another two days before departing for Prague, and return when Spiritualist Nowles and Healer Prewitt thought it to be the right time. Now, they were slowly leaving the room, only to have Daphne stop Ron and Ginny.

"I showed her some pictures, you know," she explained softly. "Molly… she needed something… a reason to come back. I showed her how you hugged Ginny in the waiting room." Ginny blinked, unsure how to react. Ron blushed, the tip of his right shoe playing around on the ground. "It meant a lot to her. You mean a lot to her," Daphne continued, obviously not eager to have this talk. "I don't know…" she hesitated, sighed. "It's your decision and I don't know everything what happened between you. I don't know if you can ever…" she shrugged "forgive each other. But I know something: to have the both of you on speaking terms again, would mean immensely to her."

She watched them for a moment, with brother and sister not looking at each other. Daphne smiled weakly and shrugged again. "Simply think about it."

.

_**Prague – 10**__**th**__** of September**_

.

"Don't you forget," Grazyna whispered. "Harry is the leader today. He'll expect Harry to do the talking. Neville may give advice, but in a submissive manner. And Hermione has to be polite and reserved. He'll be polite like a 19th century gentleman, but he comes from a patriarchal world."

"Alright, alright," Neville sighed, "No chummy behaviour. It's nothing new, really."

Grazyna raised a single eyebrow. Despite them learning pureblood etiquette for the last two years, she doubted that Harry and Hermione already caught up Neville's advantage in that matter completely. However, according to her aunt at least, the noticeable attempt to behave correctly would be enough and appreciated by their nightly host. _He is a conservative and traditionalist, but no dunderhead,_ her aunt explained. However there had been this glint in her eye, a glint Grazyna didn't like. Hopefully it wasn't some kind of a prank.

It had been easy to learn the identity of the gang guarding the quarter they were interested in. A few bribes in the right places and she learned everything she needed to know. The news weren't very comforting. Those men belonged to a gang that had been around since World War One. They started back then as an organization of smugglers and black marketers. Later they diversified into drugs and big time cigarette smuggling, as well as trading in controlled substances and potion components, both Muggle and magical. They were led by a small group of local wizards and Vampires, with a wizard-turned-Vampire being acting as their speaker these days.

All in all, it didn't sound all too good and Grazyna had been at her wits end, when she remembered someone her aunt had mentioned years ago. And now they were visiting this special someone, while Grazyna wondered whether she was leading her friends into a trap.

_Hopefully he is as fond of my aunt as she thinks he is._

.

"Good evening," they were greeted by a middle-aged woman, wearing the typical working clothes of a physician. Her hair was in a bun and she wore an old-fashioned horn rims, making her looking older than she was – or perhaps not, Harry mused. It depended on Doctor Darpa's current "life cycle". She didn't look like a Vampire but he wouldn't dare to depend on the first impression. She was around six feet two inches, he guessed, and looked quite attractive despite the clothes being not very favourable. A name tag identified her as Doctor Darpa. Harry made a stifled sigh. He would feel far better with Daphne at his side. However, it couldn't be. She would arrive at Prague tomorrow afternoon only, too late to accompany him. Her presence in his heart had to be enough for tonight.

"I'm Elsbeta Darpa," she greeted them with a curt nod. "I'm Professor Bramasov's assistant. He's expecting you. Please follow me." Without waiting for a reply, she turned around and walked down the corridor. It was more like gliding, not the clacking steps Harry had expected because of the stone floor. A single glance towards her shoes told him that this woman chose her footwear with practical rather than fashionable reasons in mind – flat and comfortable for endless hours of running around. It was actually a clever decision he had learned from the Grangers, if this "Doctor" was a real one and did actual work in this hospital.

The lights in the corridors were dimmed at this hour and there weren't many people around. The few nurses and doctors they met on their way mostly ignored Doctor Darpa and her guests. Very soon they left the inhabited corridors behind and walked through a deserted looking area of the hospital. Harry hadn't heard the name of the hospital before, but it looked very modern and spacious. After a while she led them into a room, apparently the antechamber of Professor Bramasov's office.

"Please wait here. I'll inform Professor Bramasov of your arrival. Draka will take care of your cloaks and attend to your wishes in the meantime." She gestured towards a creature they only now noticed.

Hermione flinched back and Neville automatically stepped between his fiancée and this… being. On the first like it was similar to a Dementor, but missing the infamous coldness. Around five feet tall and humanoid, it seemed to be created from pure darkness. No clothing was detectable and the "face" had no eyes or mouth. It still was able to speak, in a way – Harry wasn't certain if the words were actually spoken or sent to his mind.

"Would you like some tea? Or some water, perhaps? I was just preparing a little snack for Professor Bramasov. How about some sandwiches?"

"Two tea, please," Harry answered after recovering, "and water for the ladies."

"In a minute," the being actually bowed and left.

Doctor Darpa had watched the interaction with a guarded expression and now left them alone for some minutes. The trio and Grazyna didn't feel very comfortable despite the room not looking any different than any other waiting room in any other medical practice around the world. Still: the simple fact that they were on the home turf of one of the more influential Vampires of Prague was enough to spoil even the quite lovely tea they were presented with.

.

Professor Bramasov was nothing like the man they had expected to meet. Grazyna groaned inwardly. She had been pranked. He wasn't very tall - five feet six at the most - a little on the heavy side and his brown, slightly curled hair was a mess. It actually looked like someone had crossed the hair of Harry and Hermione – before she got those magical combs from Neville. He had a round face with small eyes and a cute button nose, an incredible broad mouth with an equally broad smile.

The room however was exactly what Harry had expected it to be, the den of a Vampire lord. The walls panelled with a dark wood, the lamps shaped like gas lamps of the 19th century and the furniture more appropriate to a smoking lounge of the same era. This certainly was a sharp contrast to the other parts of the hospital.

"Come in, come in," he waved them to enter. The discrepancy between his appearance and his assistant was astonishing. _Perhaps she's trying to compensate for him by presenting an exceptionally professional and reserved outlook_, Harry thought. "Take a seat, take a seat," he waived towards the four chairs. _Hadn't there only been three a second ago?_ Harry wasn't certain and unable to see any differences between the furniture. He gallantly helped Grazyna to take a seat while Neville did the same with Hermione. Doctor Darpa preferred to stay standing to Bramasov's left, more like a guard dog than an assistant. Despite the friendly appearance, Harry had a knot in his stomach, looking into the eyes of this man. They had a slightly mad glint and he certainly didn't get – and keep – his position because of his talent at telling jokes.

"Miss Mazur, I'm so happy to meet another member of the wonderful Mazur family. I had so many wonderful conversations with your wonderful aunt." The repetition of the word wonderful started to grate on Harry's nerves.

"We're happy that you have us, Professor Bramasov," Grazyna responded gracefully, now fully in Veela princess mode. "My aunt told me very often about you and how much she enjoyed your conversations. Please allow me to make some introductions," she waived towards Harry who made a small bow "Harry Potter, a guest of my family. His counsellor Neville Longbottom and Miss Hermione Granger," she continued. Harry assumed that the keyword "guest" put him under the protection of her family – however much that was worth.

"Splendid, quite splendid," Bramasov rubbed his hands. Now he reminded Harry of Horace Slughorn, the former potions teacher who had tried several times to invite Harry and his friends to his Slug club or how he called his assembly of boot lickers. "How do you like our wonderful Prague so far?"

The following thirty minutes were filled with nice banter about the different points of interest of the city, the cultural highlights and the architectural "must-sees". Harry was quite happy he had listened to Daphne and Roxanne talking about such themes in the past, but mostly left it to Neville who had a better education thanks to his dragon of a grandma. They were nonetheless happy when Bramasov seemed ready to start speaking about the reason their visit. While the man was certainly a cultured host, he had some weird worldviews and his taste about the arts was… unusual… to say the least. _Luna would like him,_ Harry mused. Some of his stories about the inhabitants of the Czech forests could have been written for the Quibbler. _Perhaps I should tell Luna about him_. He looked him in the eyes again. _Or perhaps not_.

"Lady Mazur told me that you're here for a reason, Mister Potter," he looked Harry straight in the eye now over his folded hands, his wobbly chin resting on his fingers. "How may I help you?"

Harry forced himself not to glance in Grazyna's direction. "I'm looking for someone in Prague. He's a British criminal hiding in your city. We have been able to follow him to a quarter at the edge of the city. However, we have encountered a small issue. It seems this man has gathered the help of a local criminal organization. Their men are guarding the area he is hiding in. We expect them to… intervene should we continue our search, which we deem necessary. We would like to avoid a confrontation – or a forewarning of our prey." He put a number of photographs he had shot with a mini-cam. The quality wasn't ideal, but they were detailed enough to recognize the thugs – and their band badges.

Bramasov showed them to Doctor Darpa and they discussed them for a while. Harry understood enough to realize that they knew those men, despite them using an older variant of the modern Czech. "I've met these men in the past," Bramasov said after a while. "They are… trading partners of mine."

That didn't sound too good. Trading partners usually meant some kind of loyalty. _Gryffindor Hurray_! "Would those trading partners listen to a proposition of yours? Perhaps some kind of agreement to look the other way when we're around?"

"That would be possible," Bramasov nodded slowly. "Perhaps you know about the… special nature… of some of the members of that organization?"

"They're Vampires," Harry offered.

Bramasov grimaced. "No, not Vampires, they're blood suckers at most. Not that I expect you to understand the difference."

"You're selling blood," Hermione gasped. Hastily she mad a curt bow of apology towards Harry.

Bramasov rolled his eyes and asked Grazyna, while lifting an eyebrow: "did your wonderful aunt go through with her story of the old-fashioned 18th century cavalier who hates nothing more than his guests breaking society rules of the past again?"

"Something like this," Grazyna answered, inwardly fuming. It was family tradition to annoy other family members like this. She should have expected it.

"She's still a little minx. However, back to your question: yes, I'm selling blood. This hospital, apart from its day-to-day treatment, has a famous research department. We're researching diseases of the blood – both mundane and special ones as diseases of Vampire or Werewolf blood."

Harry understood. This would allow Bramasov to gather healthy doses of blood from all over the world. A few galleons missing wouldn't attract attention. With such a resource under his palm, he had to be even stronger than he previously gathered. Certainly there had been quite a number of competitors in the past.

"So, yes, they would listen to me. However, why should I do such a thing? I don't know you very well. You won't stay around for long while that organization would continue to be my trading partner for a couple decades more. What do you have to offer?"

Harry frowned for a moment. He had thought about this point in advance. Money wouldn't be enough, but perhaps…

"I offer connections and knowledge."

"Both worthy trading objects," Bramasov nodded. "With knowledge I assume you mean magical knowledge? And with connections you think about Baron Pascal?"

Harry paled a bit. This man knew more about him than he had expected. Nonetheless he nodded slowly. "Perhaps there is something you want from Baron Pascal. I could be a mediator between the two of you. As far as I know the Vampires of France and Czech haven't exactly been allies in the past."

"That's regretfully right," Bramasov nodded. "The influence of some Vampire lords that supported Grindelwald kept it this way in the past. They are on the decline these days, but the Vampires of Western Europe still eye us suspiciously. They still await further developments."

"I could speak with them on your behalf." Harry offered. "Helping us now would be proof enough that you cut your ties with the past."

"I never supported Grindelwald. And nobody dared to enforce my support of him in his days," Bramasov explained. "But I see your point. However, the impact of your help is unpredictable. I need something tangible in addition." He addressed Neville now: "I feel Mother Earth in you, young man. I have a good old friend who would be interested in your knowledge. Give me something: a book about Earth magic or an artefact of the Earth, and I'll help you."

"{What do you think?}" Harry asked his friends through their mindlink. "{Can he be trusted with such knowledge? We don't know who this friend is.}"

Bramasov watched the mental exchange between the three friends with Grazyna excluded for now. He smiled faintly. "A mind connection, how interesting."

Harry's eyes widened. How was this Vampire able to feel their connection? Was he able to read their mind? He moved to stand up and draw his wand. Bramasov waved a hand, looking a tad bored and a tad disappointed.

.

_What_ … Harry looked around. He wasn't in the office anymore but instead in some kind of … cupboard. He was back in his cupboard in Privet Drive, but too tall to stand comfortably anymore. He had to lower his head. The door was closed. Through the lattice gate he saw darkness and the flicker of the TV. "Alohomora!" The door didn't budge. Harry rattled at the lattice door. "Be quiet for once, freak!" He heard Vernon's angry voice.

_This can't be_, Harry thought. _I'm still in the office_. He tried to reach out to his friends and yes, he was able to connect to them. He felt Neville's fear to be a squib and Hermione terror of being blind and unable to read. _I'm here_! He screamed mentally. _This is not real_.

"Are you certain?"

Harry whirled around. Bramasov was standing there, looking quite comfortable despite the cramped cupboard. He actually grinned. Harry tried to punch him, only to have the door snap inward and force him against the wall. Harry was stuck between door and wall now. In reality the door would have opened outwardly. The memory didn't help with the current situation. He was barely able to move a muscle now and had to watch helplessly as Bramasov disarmed him. He took the wand away and put it on a small sideboard that had never been there in the past.

"The boundary between imagination and reality as far slimmer than you'd expect."

He reached through the lattice door and patted Harry's cheek with his soft little hand.

"Wake up, my little prince."

.

With a jolt he woke up and nearly slipped from the seat he was sitting on. Harry looked around. Hermione was over there and Neville at her side. Grazyna was still sleeping. They weren't in the office anymore but in one of the waiting rooms of the hospital apparently.

"He obviously likes you."

Harry whirled around as he heard Doctor Darpa's voice. His hand went for his wand, earning him a scolding "tsk-tsk". She waved her hand, keeping the four wands there.

"He's still willing to help you – in exchange for some Earth Magic and your promise to play mediator between the French and the Czech Vampires. As a token of trust he offers a slip of advice: the den of the man you're searching for is under a double-layered set of confusion runes. The first layer is easily broken, the second one however will need the fourth member of your circle to overcome – and you would be wise to take only those with you who are able to share your special link into the inner chamber."

She offered Harry the four wands and after a moment of hesitation he accepted them. With a curt but not unfriendly nod she departed with those gliding steps of hers.

_This was certainly quite the experience._

.

_**A forest near Prague – early night of the 10**__**th**__** of September – two days until New Moon**_

.

This was incredible. Markus felt freedom, the soft ground under his paws and the fresh air in his nose complete with the smell of trees and the animals inhabiting the area. It was easy to differentiate between the noises of the paws of his travelling group and the movement of the hares and deer fleeing the area. For two hours they had been running through the forest and Markus had absolutely no idea where exactly they happened to be right now – this had certainly been the intention from the start.

A dozen clan members were accompanying him as well as Ophelia and Alecto. All of them looked like regular wolves, not Werewolves, an understandable fact with barely a sliver of the moon shining down. This experience was possible thanks to a small ritual Ildiko had enacted under the last rays of the sunlight, the ritual being proof of her exceptional magical powers. The only fact disturbing the experience and dampening his mood was the pain he felt from his left leg/forearm. The Dark Mark was still visible there despite the fur covering his body. It was battling the magic of the transformation, the pure magic of Mother Gaia. It only deepened his desire to get rid of it, to be really free again.

Ophelia was running at his sight, enjoying the feeling as he did. He could smell her. He could smell her heat. Markus fletched his teeth, his version of a smile. Ophelia "grinned" back. It was a promise of a night without much sleeping. He wouldn't, he couldn't let her go anymore. Markus wanted to have a future with Ophelia. He would accept Ildiko's offer. He would purge his body and soul of the taint again – or die trying.

.

"This is incredible," Ophelia whispered. Markus nodded, feeling a little overwhelmed by the impact of the sight. He glanced towards Alecto. The woman – they all were human again by now – was sitting over there on a stone slab, getting hugged by Ildiko and was violently sobbing. Whatever she felt: it was obviously a far deeper emotion than could be felt by Ophelia and Markus who lacked her wolf-side.

They had entered the holy cave a few minutes ago. The entrance had appeared normal enough. Apparently this had been some kind of mine in the far past. Now it was abandoned, apart from the visits of this clan. The signs were clear that they had spent more than one night in this cavern. There had even been a pair of guards – against whatever they guarded the area, simple trespassers or known enemies, Markus had no idea and didn't ask.

The main cavern was easily twenty yards across and nearly eight yards high in the centre. The walls were covered with all kind of berg crystal, reflecting tenfold and multi-colouring the light of the single campfire. Dominating the cavern was a single tall crystal-covered stone pillar, three feet across and fifteen feet tall. Even Markus was able to feel that this pillar was something special. It emanated a kind of peace that slowly filled his heart simply from being here; increasing every time he looked in the direction. This could easily convince a visitor to stay far longer than intended and forget the worries and sorrows of the outer world. The whole cavern was a marvel of nature.

Markus noticed Ildiko looking in his direction, her expression asking for a decision. He nodded slowly. He would accept her offer.

Ildiko smiled.

.

_**Prague – 12**__**th**__** of September**_

.

The same hospital, the same room, and the same occupants – only that there were two additional guests present, two men that hadn't to utter a single word to make Harry dislike them. And Daphne was there today as well. She had arrived at Prague the day before and wasn't seen for hours afterwards – nor was Harry for that matter.

Neville only needed a good night's sleep to convince him to accept the deal – in a way at least. He made Bramasov a counteroffer: Neville would meet this friend of his and speak with her about Earth Magic. Depending on the course of the meeting, he would offer her an Earth Artefact, some books or both. He wasn't too secretive with this special bland of magic – mostly because most wizards would never be able to learn it – but still wanted to avoid its abuse. Bramasov had accepted the counteroffer and invited them for a second meeting tonight, two of his trading partners joining them.

The man to the left was sitting on a chair and looked like he had a stick stuck deep into his arse. He was frowning the whole time, accentuated every sentence with a gesture of his well-manicured hand and his long, silky hair reminded Harry very much of the late Lucius Malfoy – despite his hair being a very dark brown instead of the trademark pale blond of the Malfoys. He had a slightly androgyny look and appeared to be around forty years old. Not that Harry believed him to be this age as his Vampiric nature was quite obvious.

The second man was standing to the right. He had a sneer on his face and was leering towards Hermione and Daphne in a way that made them shiver. Unlike his companion, who wore an old-fashioned and expensive suit, he wore the gang-outfit they had seen days ago. He had at least an army knife and a .45 automatic at his sides, and seemed eager to use them. Bramasov obviously didn't care about the weapons, and after the last conversation and especially how it ended, Harry had no doubt that the good ol' man was more than able to handle such a physical threat. He decided to call them Dandy and Ruffian in his mind.

Harry noticed that Bramasov was intently watching his and his friends' reactions. He tried to calm down a bit and ignore the dunderheads' bad behaviour. His reaction got him a mental snicker from Hermione and Neville sent the words "{You're looking awfully like Snape right now.}" Hermione seemed to agree and didn't even reproach Neville for omitting Professor Snape's honorary title.

"Let's start, Bramasov. I have things to do." Dandy drawled. Ruffian snickered as if Dandy had made a good joke. He had an air around him that reminded Harry of a cocaine addict. Perhaps he was.

"You always have, Tadeusz," Bramasov responded with a gentle voice and a patience usually reserved for toddlers.

"We could already be finished if you simply answered our questions," Daphne interjected, sneering at Dandy and using her haughtiest voice. She hadn't been around the Malfoys for years without learning something.

Dandy lifted an eyebrow. "You allow her to speak to me like this, Bramasov?"

"He doesn't have to allow anything," Harry interjected. "Miss Pinegrew is my fiancée and it is my duty to control her – or not. However, she's right. You could stop wasting our time and tell us what you know – which isn't all too much, I fear." The last one was only a guess but Harry would be surprised if Dolohov trusted an outsider with more than the bare minimum of information.

Dandy grimaced but still complied as he got only a knowing smile from Bramasov. "What do you want to know?"

"Which area are your men covering? What are your orders regarding intruders? Which means do you have to contact Dolohov? What do you know about the security measures and the strength of his forces? Where is the entrance or entrances should there be more than one? Do you know about any prepared escape routes? Which kind of wards has been erected against magical transportation? Have there been any visitors or departures lately?" Harry shot the questions like rapid-fire.

Dandy looked annoyed and glanced towards Bramasov. The Professor only shrugged and commented: "you should answer the questions exhaustively and correctly. I have need of Mister Potter's services in the future and would be quite unhappy to lose him because you forgot to mention some detail." There was more than a hint of threat in the statement.

Dandy nodded curtly, getting more serious. Even his drawl diminished a bit. "The first thing you have to know is the fact that Dolohov left Prague seven days ago. He hasn't returned since but has been exchanging messages with the inhabitants still at his den."

He continued to answer the questions one by one. Harry listened intently, clarifying details with additional questions and putting the answers together to a whole, quite positive looking picture. He could only hope that this man was really honest with his answers. If yes, this was a real gold mine.

He would have to thank Grazyna for hooking him up with Bramasov.

.

_**Cave of the Clan – near Prague – 12**__**th**__** of September – New Moon**_

.

"Everything will be alright, Markus."

Ophelia's words were uttered with such love and conviction he really wanted to believe them. However, he would have preferred her embrace to her words. This wasn't allowed, however, not tonight, not for the last twenty-four hours. Ildiko had been adamant about this: he had to wear this woollen garb and nothing else. It was coarse, scraping on the skin and not exactly trendy. He wasn't allowed to eat anything besides this… he didn't even know what this "stew" contained. The taste was simply yuck. It made him run to the loo, or what served as a loo in this natural environment, every hour. Now his stomach was empty and he felt a bit light-headed. Most importantly he wasn't allowed physical contact. Only Ildiko and her granddaughter were allowed to touch him and even they avoided it as much as possible. No, there was no way to get the hug he so dearly missed – not yet at least.

"When this is done and over," Ophelia promised, "we'll make a vacation. We'll look for a nice little cabin deep in the forest and don't leave the bed for three days." He really liked that idea.

.

"Follow me."

Obeying Ildiko's command, Markus left his seat. For a moment he reached out, wanted to feel Ophelia, perhaps for the last time.

"Don't," Ildiko stopped him. Her expression softened. "You'll see her again." It was a promise he dared believe.

.

Besides Ildiko and Markus only four persons were present in the main chamber, waiting for them near the capital stone. Ildiko's granddaughter was around to learn the tricks of the trade or something. Markus had already learned about the tradition of wise women in the clan and their special branch of magic. It could be called Shamanism or Druidism perhaps; he had no experience with such traditions. In any case: she would only be an observer tonight and perhaps give her grandmother a helping hand. But why were the other three clan members present? They seemed to belong to the strongest and fittest of their clan, two men and one woman. Each of them wore some kind of weapon, one of them handing Markus a sheathed sabre now.

"Take this weapon," Ildiko ordered. "You'll need it."

Markus did as he was told and watched her continue the preparations. It looked complicated and while a few things were of the usual kind – like burning some herbs and lighting a number of candles – others were not. She walked around, singing in a guttural language, touching a crystal here and there. They started to glow, first to themselves only, then sending beams of light to other crystals. Slowly a whole web of beams crisscrossed the whole chamber. Markus only now noticed, having been distracted by Ildiko's doing that the burning herbs started to fill the chamber with a heavy fog. It rolled around on the ground, after a while covering it hip-high. He wasn't even able to see his own two feet anymore.

"Sit down cross-legged and bow your head into the fog.

"Breathe slowly and deeply.

"Open your mind.

"May your voyage begin."

.

Left behind, on her own again, Ophelia allowed her self-restraint to crumble. She couldn't lose him, but she had to be strong. Ophelia knew how much Markus had come to hate his condition: the taint of his soul. Somehow the feeling was stronger here. The cavern reacted to his presence, to the presence of the mark. It would fight the dark magic, purge it out of Markus, or kill him in the attempt.

Tonight was the New Moon, the night of total darkness. Ildiko had explained it: it was the time the Dark Mark was at its strongest. Only tonight, Markus had a chance to purge it completely. If he was successful tonight, he would get rid of it completely, even more than by cutting his arm of. She understood the reasoning, she was willing to support and encourage him.

Still, she was terrified.

"Please come back to me, Markus."

.

_**Somewhere in the Far East – still 12**__**th**__** of September**_

.

"I hope you have my money." The smile wasn't a pleasant one.

Antonin Dolohov clenched his teeth and nodded. He gestured Andrew Rosier to put the briefcase on the table in front of his trading partner. Andrew was a nephew or something of Evan Rosier. Like his uncle he was mostly loyal and – far more important – too much of a coward to go running with the money. It had been this reason that Avery decided to send the young man to get the money – both cash and in rare components – that was expected as payment.

The Chinese smiled; a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He opened the briefcase and took his time to sort through the things contained therein. Meticulously he counted the money – 120 Gold Drachm, each of them worth around 175 galleons. It was money they had got from an Arabian slave trader in exchange for a couple of very blond, very young ladies and gentlemen a few months ago. All in all they were worth around 21,000 galleons. The rest had been collected in rare dragon components, some poisons and half a dozen shreds from a Dementor. Most of the creatures had fled the land or had been destroyed in the battles, and Dolohov would cut his own mother into pieces in return of his Lord – if he still had a mother.

"This seems to be alright," the man said without acknowledging the fact that Dolohov was fuming, his carotid pulsing, because this asshole dared to have him waiting like a schoolboy in the director's office. Nonchalantly he gestured for his assistant who drew a simple envelope from his jacket and put it in front of Dolohov. Antonin had to restrain himself not to jump the table. Instead he bowed down to fetch the letter like it was unimportant to him. His "partner" didn't look convinced by the act and even dared to smirk. _Asshole_, Antonin repeated in his head.

Antonin frowned. Inside the envelope there was only one photograph. It showed some kind of stone statue. He turned the photograph. On the backside stood some address. "This is all?" He scowled.

The man shrugged. "You wanted to know the address of your Dark Master. There it is, and in addition and completely cost-free I added a picture of his current condition."

Dolohov paled and stared at the photograph. "That's… that's him?" He was shocked. The man only continued this unnerving smile and nodded. "You mean he is there, with filthy Muggles watching him?" The man frowned for a moment but nodded again. Dolohov gulped. "We have to free him – as soon as possible. You have to…"

"I have to do nothing," Dolohov was stopped cold by the interjection.

"What do you mean: nothing?"

"Exactly what I said," the man drawled. "You wanted the address. You paid. We delivered. End of the deal."

"No," he shook his head. "No, we have to free him."

"You mean YOU have to free him. We have no interest in the fate of this man – this way or other." The message hit home: these weren't actual friends but only trading partners. They could easily sell him to the other side. Dolohov slowly reached for his wand but the man's cold voice stopped him. "Don't. I think it is time for your departure, Mister Dolohov."

"But I need more information about the location. How is he guarded? What kind of wards can I expect? I'll need men to extract him."

"Information we have to offer," the man complied hesitantly, "for a fee. Manpower however will not be available."

"Why not?" He sounded a bit like a whining child but Dolohov didn't care.

The man sighed. "This location – is under the protection of the twelve white cranes triads." He said it like it would explain everything. It did not, at least not to Dolohov. Apparently he realized this. With a deep sigh he continued: "the twelve white cranes are our competitors in this area. There have been fights in the past, costly fights. We have a truce now, a truce we don't intend to break."

"So you're a coward."

The man looked a bit annoyed and rolled his eyes. "And you're a dumbass. Stop oozing your charm," he sneered. "It's not cowardice to avoid a battle if you have nothing to gain."

"I could pay…"

"You haven't enough money, not without hold of the Malfoy wealth. 1,000,000 galleons: that would be the price for our battle assistance."

Dolohov paled. Even with Nott's money in his grasp there was no way he could gather this kind of money. Gulping he asked: "and the information?"

"20,000 galleons for everything you need to know and a secure haven to prepare your men."

Dolohov thought about it for a moment. With the information he could execute his own extraction operation. He still had a few men to spare and India wasn't too far away. He knew a Thuggee Lord over there who would be willing to lend him a dozen cutthroats or two – for a small price.

He hated it, hated to back down when everything in him screamed to blast the grin from his face. However, he had no choice.

Dolohov nodded. He accepted the deal.

.

_**A/N**_

_Yes, Dolohov now knows about his Dark Master's location. Will he be able to free him? Read about it in two weeks._


	24. Chapter 24 Battles all over the world

_**A/N**_

_About __**Voldy's fate**__: it was never the plan to have him permanently out of the picture right after the events of part two of my story. I only wanted to choose a different approach to most other stories (and the original books): not gathering/destroying the Horcruxes first and only then face Voldy, but instead take Voldy out of the picture first (for a time), then search and destroy the Horcruxes (while Voldy can't interfere or create more) and only then solve the Voldy problem permanently. _

_I have a little unusual __**request**__ today:_

_I've been writing a story for my wife for the last months and will continue to do that for the greater part of this year. In that story I use __**Arabic**__ for the spells and a few important terms. I'm looking for someone who would be willing to __**translate**__ a few words for me (20-30 I guess). I would simply use an internet translator but all I found until now only gave the Arabic spelling (which isn't helpful for me)._

.

**Battles all over the world**

.

_**A Cavern near Prague – still the night of the 12**__**th**__** of September**_

.

_**Sleep**_

Fog was covering the ground like a thick layer of muddy water. It felt more solid than it ought to be and it even had a smell. Markus had the taste of smoke, of burned flesh and charred bones in the nose. It was a nasty taste and made him gag. Still he obeyed. If this was what was needed to get rid of the dark mark, he would do it. Only, he had the bad feeling that this was barely the start of it.

Branka, Sladjan and Ondras – that were the names of his three… he had no idea what exactly they represented. His supporters? battle-siblings? He assumed as much with them armed like he was. Sladjan – Markus nearly grinned for a second. Ophelia told him that it meant something like "sweet one". The broad-shouldered frame of bones and muscles with the angular face looked anything but sweet. Ondras was a deep contrast, with a body alike a hunting cat and its motions so similar. The last member of the trio was the sole woman; Branka wasn't a very attractive woman and did not possess a sleight of grace, but an infectious laugh and a deep, roaring voice.

"Your voyage begins."

_Voyage? What voyage_? These were his last thoughts before blackness suffocated his senses.

.

_**Awakening**_

"Get up."

Markus shook his head to clear his mind. Opening his eyes, he stared in Branka's broad face. She showed him a toothy smile but her eyes spoke to him about the seriousness of the situation. He looked around. Sladjan and Ondras were there as well, weapons drawn, guarding the little group against – against what?

Markus jumped to his feet and looked around. He wasn't in the cave anymore but instead in some kind of ghost forest with a small castle lying in ruins visible on a low hill not too far away. There was the howling of wolves in the air. _There always was in the books_, Markus grimaced. This couldn't be real but the ground to his feet felt real enough. Was this place a part of his imagination, of his sub consciousness? Why were they here exactly? Ildiko hadn't been able to tell him what was about to happen to him, only that he had to fight his inner darkness.

Darkness – Markus looked up. There was no moon in the sky and no stars either. Still, it wasn't actually pitch black darkness around here. Instead, there was a thin layer of fog covering everything, looking like an endless mass of spider webs. Those webs somehow illuminated the whole place, allowing them to find their way – a way that obviously led them to the castle on the hill. This place was apparently a mix of his fears, fantasies, and the magic of the cavern. Why it had chosen this appearance, he was given no explanation.

He breathed deeply, gripped the handle of his sabre stronger and uttered: "let's go."

.

_**Forest**_

The path was far longer than it first seemed. Like a snake it led them through the forest – a forest that was filled with all kind of strange noises. Mostly it was noises of the usual kind, like the crackle of twigs and the rushing wind. However, there were voices too, voices calling him and his compadres, voices that screamed in pain and hate.

Markus shuddered. A few of those voices seemed familiar. He had killed in the past. While he had been able to avoid cold-blooded murder so far, there had been dead bodies in his path. The last one had been that young Death-Eater he had to kill to free Alecto. While he may have been evil, happy to cause pain and eager to kill the weak, he also could have been more similar to Markus, foolish to join the bad boys and looking for a way out after realizing his error. Markus would never know. He didn't even know his name, couldn't inform his mother that her son would never return home, that he found a gruesome death in some foreign soil while in the service of a madman.

Had his father been proud when his son joined the Death Eaters? Had his mother's heart raced in fear, knowing how dangerous his future just turned? Was there a little sister sobbing for him, a younger boy proud of his older brother and eager to follow in his steps as soon as his age and strict father allowed?

A broad, meaty hand slapped his neck. "Don't think about it," a rumbling voice with a thick accent scolded him. It was Sladjan and he looked thoughtful now. "You're thinking about the past, about what you did wrong. It doesn't help. It only makes you distracted, weak and more prone to die tonight."

"How do you know?" Markus asked hoarsely.

"I know the look of your eyes. I was like you," Sladjan answered. "I followed the darkness, a different darkness but similar enough. It filled my heart, my mind and my soul. It would have engulfed me fully and drowned me, had Ildiko not found me."

"She was able to help you?" Markus wondered, thinking about how Sladjan's life had been in the past. Had he been a vicious Werewolf like Fenrir, killing and turning without a second thought?

"Yes," he nodded gravely. "It wasn't easy, it still isn't. Every morning when I wake up, I know that a new day of fighting lies ahead. It never ends."

"Is it worth it – the constant struggle?" Markus realized only now how naïve he had been to believe that this cleansing was a one-time thing. This one stupid decision to take the mark would influence his whole life. Was he strong enough to do this?

"It is," Sladjan nodded again. "Everything worth to live for is worth to fight for as well. For me it was my son – you have to find your own reason for living and fighting."

.

_**Gate**_

The last corner of the path rounded, the last trees vanishing that had blocked the sight, and there it was: the castle lying in ruins, with mouldering banners flying lazily in the wind, dampened candle light floating from the windows that looked like the eye sockets of a dead man, and the entrance that appeared like a maw ready to swallow them whole.

Markus stopped cold dead, the last traces of colour leaving his face. There, in the middle of the open gate, a heavy sword in his hand and the all too well-known sneer on his face was standing his late father. Flint Senior – he demanded to be called "Sir" and never by his given name or, Merlin beware, "father" – had been a proud follower of Voldemort in the first war and again after his return. After the first war he had been able, like many of his comrades, to escape Azkaban through the use of some silly "Imperio" claims. He had died only a few months ago, much to the relief of his whole family, even those members who shared his world view. He had been a bigot, a blind follower and a brutal family patriarch. Even today Markus wore the marks to prove it.

"You're a disgusting failure, Markus," Flint snarled. It had always been "Markus", never "son", like he had to prove his worth to be called such. "Weak, dumb and without talent you always have been. Barely able to make your exam, only getting a job because of my connections, and not even brave or loyal enough to stand your ground at the side of your comrades – I should have drowned you right after your birth."

"He can still change," a second voice interjected. If there had been any colour left, it would have been gone by now. From the shadows his mother joined his father. She looked haggard, starved and beaten. She was wearing chains and her robes were in shreds. Markus eyes hardened as he saw crusted blood on her face and shoulder. His father had been a happy beater in the past. He liked the Caedo Disciplinae spell, the whip of discipline, preferred it even to the Crucio because it allowed him to pace the pain to his liking. Bad grades – five strokes, bad mouthing – ten strokes, contradicting his all-knowing father – you were in a world of pain.

"Give him another chance," his mother pleaded. Markus knew that she loved him. She had, however, always been too weak to stand up for him, had never really defended him against dear father, and she would still be like that without his death.

"He had more than enough chances already," his father sneered. "He even got the mark without deserving it. He could have proven himself, but instead he chose to become a traitor."

"He was seduced by that woman," his mother pleaded, addressing Markus now: "please turn back, Markus. Turn back to the right path. Don't continue. I can't lose you, not you too."

Markus knew what she was speaking about. They had been five in the beginning, a healthy family, but not without sacrifices on his mother's part. Four miscarriages, four that he knew about. Only when a second son had been born, had his father been content and allowed her to use the potion. Father had been proud of his second son. Unlike Markus, his brother had been quite clever. However, with every passing year without accidental magic happening around him, it became more and more obvious that he was a squib. One month after his eleventh birthday – Markus had been at Hogwarts already – he died, officially the victim of an accident. Markus had never believed it, nor did his older sister, who had by then already cut most ties to her family and then left the country with her husband, a Swedish pureblood from an old family that didn't share Flint's opinions about the non-worth of squibs.

Never again had his brother's name been mentioned at home, nor his sister's. _I should visit my sister_, Markus mused. _She would like Ophelia_. She had always been the only family member supportive of him, stopping it only because of their violent father. He even got a letter from time to time. She hadn't given up completely.

"I only have you left," his mother pleaded.

"I'm sorry, mother," Markus shook his head. "A life following his steps," he nodded towards his father, "isn't worth living." He addressed his father now: "go to hell, father, where you belong."

.

_**Courtyard**_

Like screaming banshees their enemies charged them. They looked like a mix of Inferi, Trolls and Dementors, with cold evilness dripping out of every orifice, while their teeth – yellow and pointy – looked ready to take a bite out of them. Markus' father, instead of accepting the challenge, had vanished into the castle, but not without decapitating his mother first. He knew it wasn't really her, that it wasn't his fault. Still, the mental picture of her death burned painfully into his mind.

With a mighty battle cry Sladjan charged a group of them. Instead of some finely crafted sword or sabre like his companions, he wore two mighty blacksmith hammers in his meaty hands and put them to good use. He turned a head into splashy goo and caved in a chest with a second stroke. A third opponent tried to get to his flank only to be cut into pieces by Branka. She was shielding Sladjan's left side while Markus did the same on the right. Ondras followed them, dancing back and forth while using his slender sword like a surgeon's knife.

"Over there," Markus pointed towards the North Tower instead of the main building. Since they got near the castle, his mark had started to emit a faint black smoke that floated in the air and trailed towards an unseen destination. Markus felt that he had to follow this lead. He felt out of place with a sabre in his hand. The grip, size and weight of the weapon was exactly right for him. Still, he wished he could use magic around here. His wand however hadn't made the voyage and he had never been able to get the grip on wandless magic. Wasn't it weird that he had to use a Muggle weapon to get rid of Voldemort's magical mastery?

A mighty kick of Sladjan's broad foot, clad into a solid boot complete with metal cap, was enough to force the painful excuse of a door open, filling the air with wooden splinters and the groaning noises of painfully bent metal. Markus looked around. This had been some kind of common room for the guards, he assumed. There were still empty goblets on the wooden table, a shaker with some dice and a couple of old silver and bronze coins.

"Don't", Ondras stopped him as he wanted to have a look. "I don't like this place. It feels seductive." Markus frowned, but obeyed. He listened to his own feelings and realized that Ondras was right: there was a slight pull to the table. With a curt nod he moved onwards, avoiding the table as much as possible, and stepped closer to the stairs that led into the darkness below.

"We have to go down there," he announced. "My dear father is expecting us."

.

_**Catacombs**_

Markus spit some blood on the ground. His head hurt and his arm ached, where one of those beasts had hit him with some kind of barbaric weapon. It had looked like a wooden sword, only with teeth or thorns attached to it. It had hurt like hell and ripped the skin open. Branka had poured something burning onto the wound to avoid an infection. Markus wondered if his wounds transferred to his real body. He was certain that death at this place would mean his death on the other side as well.

He left the room, the fifth or sixth since they entered this level. There had been fights after fights, mostly against those crossbreed types but there had been two creatures as well; huge beasts of more than 9 feet that looked like roughly sewn together. They had been incredible strong but luckily not very fast or agile. Then there had been another group of opponents, the most troublesome to his mind. They had the appearance of people he had watched dying, be it in battle or at revels, or even tortured and murdered by other Death Eaters. He had been part of that as well, and while he had tried his best to stand back, he now felt like it had been the escape of a coward. It had been an awful experience, those poor humans clinging to him, staring at him with pleading eyes while they tried to pull him towards the ground. It was like bathing in the bloody remains of helpless children as he had to cut them down to free himself.

His mark was burning now. They were nearing the centre of this horrid place, he could feel it. This corridor looked older and less used than the others. The ground was different as well. It nearly felt alive and it was far warmer than the stones farther back. Markus had the ugly feeling of walking right into the maw of a giant beast with no way of escaping.

He only hoped that he didn't lead his companions into their painful deaths.

.

_**The Centre of Darkness**_

"So nice of you to spare the time for a little visit to your poor old father," Flint senior drawled. He was sitting on some old-fashioned stone throne that rested on a small pedestal. There was a long table with two rows of seats, leaving four of them empty near the head. Seated along the table were more than a dozen young men and women, all looking similar to Markus and his father. A few of the were nearly copies of his late brother and his exiled sister, while others appeared like Markus imagined how other siblings would have looked like – siblings he would have had without his mother's miscarriages.

"Have a seat," Flint gestured towards an empty chair. "Take a goblet, drink some wine – it could be your last one." The smile was hopeful and malicious.

"I didn't come here to drink wine," Markus stonily reciprocated.

"Then what's the reason of your visit?" Flint senior asked like he didn't know already.

Markus pushed up his left sleeve, unveiling the ugly mark resting there: "to get rid of this. You were the main reason I accepted the mark. Now it's time to leave it behind. I don't want to be a slave anymore. I want to be my own master."

His father shook his head in sad disappointment. "You taking the mark was the best thing you ever did, Markus. It was the one moment I was proud to be your father, the one moment you nearly were the boy I wanted to see in you. And now you want to squander that, to toss it away like nothing? You are nothing without the mark, Markus. You don't have a future without it."

Was he right? For a few seconds Markus felt depression descend onto his heart. He was nothing. He was a failure and a disappointment. He could never…

"Think about her," Sladjan's strong grip hurt and broke through his madness, his words reminding Markus of the one good thing that had happened to him.

_Ophelia!_

His father sneered. "She won't stay with you. She only endures you as long as you're useful to her. She'll leave you as soon as she'll find someone better. You'll be alone, completely alone." Naturally he knew about her. This wasn't his father, really, but a sliver of his imagination.

"You're wrong," Sladjan snarled. "He has us. We are his friends. We are his clan, ready to fight for him, to risk our lives and souls for his future, as he did for those women. Never again will he be alone."

Markus threw him a thankful look. Sladjan looked serious about this as did Ondras and Branka who stepped at his sides. He hadn't thought about it, but they really risked everything accompanying him tonight. Markus assumed that they mostly did it because Ildiko trusted him; she saw something in his soul that not even his family had been able to detect. Still, they were here. They were willing to stand by him. And Ophelia would do the same. If she ever left him, it would be because she felt unworthy not the other way around. He would have to fight for her, but it was a fight he was determined to win.

"I'm not alone father. I'm not a failure. And I have a future," Markus said calmly, his eyes blazing. "You were wrong and this horror will end tonight."

.

Markus dodged to the left, barely escaping the cutting edge of his father's sword as it sliced through his cloak. All around him his three friends were fighting his "family." Each of them had been wounded several times. Branka was limping from a knife stuck into her leg. Sladjan's right arm was broken and useless. He now used his left arm with twice the force to swing some rusty axe that he grabbed from a downed enemy. And Ondras: he was bleeding heavily from a dozen wounds, his motions getting slower. This had to end fast else he would lose his friends.

With a battle cry he jumped forward. Instead of using his sword, he punched his father into the face, breaking his nose. Flint staggered back, waving his sword in front of him, for the moment blinded by blood in the eyes. Markus fetched a chair from the floor. It was broken and missed two legs, but it was still sturdy enough to use it as a shield against a couple of strikes. He deflected his father's next swing and made a riposte with his own weapon, cutting open his father's chest. Blood was dripping on the ground from the wounds of both men, making the ground slippery and the fight even more dangerous.

"Markus," Branka screamed and Markus trusted her enough to hurriedly move aside without seeing the danger. A two-handed sword hit the ground where he had been a second before. One of his "sisters" was swinging the weapon, she and one of his unborn brothers assisting his father now in the fight. For a while the four combatants executed a deadly dance around each other, attacking and defending while moving to get into the back of one's opponent. His sister had lost a hand already but didn't stop fighting. She was now wearing the five-and-half-feet weapon with one hand only, the attacks no less deadly. Markus had been able to wound his brother's leg, slowing him down and making his defeat imminent.

Suddenly his father pushed his son into the path of Markus weapon, sacrificing him while lodging Markus' sword. With a malicious grin Flint jump-attacked him, the sword pulled back for a deep thrust. If he was hit, the weapon would go straight through his chest. Markus grabbed his sabre and heaved his brother, still impaled on the weapon, around. His father's sword went straight through his brother's neck and right through Markus' left arm. He screamed in pain and jumped back, losing his weapon in the process. Black gooey blood dripped from the weapon, weakening him immensely and nearly making him faint.

His sister moved to cut him down but suddenly stopped. Her eyes widened. She staggered for a moment before she came crushing down, a rusty axe sticking in her back. Sladjan was standing there, grinning broadly. He was swaying from exhaustion but had enough power left to punch one of Markus' brethren who tried to exploit the situation. Flint snarled and attacked again. This time his son was ready for him. He went for his father's weapon, arm and neck, with his strong hands, gripping them in a vicelike hold. The men fought each other's strength but slowly the older man succumbed to his son's youth and determination.

"Don't hurt me."

Instead of his father he was now suffocating his mother. Markus startled for a moment but didn't let go. His mother turned into his sister and then into Ophelia, all the time pleading for not hurting her.

"Giving up now would only hurt Ophelia," Markus snarled. With a mighty scream he lifted his father from the ground and charged onward, smashing him against the wall. He slowly crunched his windpipe, never letting go of his weapon arm. The fighting in the room had stopped. His three friends were watching him, heavily panting and profusely bleeding.

"This. Will. Stop. Tonight," Markus accentuated every single word. "I. Will. Be. Free."

His father stopped struggling, his arm losing every ounce of power it ever had. Markus still kept his iron grip and only allowed his hand to open as Sladjan put his hand on Markus shoulder. The body slumped to the ground, now a mix of Markus and his father. It was his darker side that had died tonight.

"It's over now, Markus. You're free again, free to live, love and fight for your own future."

Markus nodded weakly and thankful, exchanging looks with his three friends. It was time to go back – back to Ophelia.

.

_**Somewhere in the Far East – 14**__**th**__** of September – 47 days until Halloween**_

.

He had 47 days left, 47 days until the night of Halloween. While other dates would be possible for his master's resurrection, Madam Guille had been adamant about using that specific night.

_He'll be at his strongest afterwards. It will make him more human than the last time._

Antonin Dolohov shuddered, thinking about how his master had been after that resurrection 15 months ago. He had been more snake than human, without a nose, with red eyes and a skin cold to the touch. Not that Dolohov often had the chance to test that fact. He had been nothing like the charismatic, beautiful leader he had been twenty years ago, nothing like the man he had respected, adored and even loved back then – the man that had been able to convince Dolohov to join his cause after only a single conversation. It hadn't been the promises of power, money and influence or his vision of the future that convinced Dolohov on that fated day. It simply had been the inhuman charisma of the man.

He had lost that part and in Dolohov's eyes it was a terrible loss. Madam Guille was right: if they had the chance to get the Dark Lord back as he had been, as he deserved to be again, they would use it.

.

"They're here," Andrew Rosier announced and with a suppressed sigh of relief Antonin Dolohov gestured him to lead them in. _They_, the Death Eaters Avery sent him to free the Dark Lord. It was heart-breaking to think about the painfully small number of high ranking Death Eaters left alive and free. Barely a dozen was left after the battles of last spring. Many had been killed, and a few fled the country like Crabbe. He had never expected the man to abandon the cause. Crabbe had always been loyal and steadfast – and too dumb to realize any danger. This only changed after Malfoy's fate and the death of Crabbe's son – the death of a traitor.

Among the rest he only had Avery, Mulciber, Rabastan LeStrange, Evan Rosier, Theo Nott and John Travers as free and competent henchmen left, and a few younger family members like Andrew Rosier. The news of Nott's death hadn't reached him until now. Dolohov allowed himself to smile, as John Travers led barely a dozen men into the small house he got from his Chinese partners to prepare the rescue operation. It came with a handful of servants – certainly spying on him for their master as well – and quite impressive wards. There was also a planning room with a couple of whiteboards and some Muggle contraptions. Apparently the Muggle Aurors used such nick-nack to plan their operations and the Chinese wizard triads had adapted. One of the servants was able to operate them, which was quite lucky as Dolohov had no intention of learning it.

His smile froze as he noticed the look on Travers face. Something bad had happened in back Prague.

.

"That bitch," Dolohov screamed and smashed his tea cup against the wall. Travers and his men watched him stonily. They knew how dangerous it was to attract his attention in moments like this. "I should have killed her. Or better, I should have put her under an Imperio. How could this dumbass allow his bitch-sister to bolt?" He hadn't accepted the information about the betrayal of Nott's sister very gracefully.

Travers shrugged. "Nott was always a weak coward. At least he paid for this stupidity."

"Yeah," Dolohov nodded, not really placated. Nott had died because of his decision to help his sister flee and the conflicting oath he had put him under. It only meant another obstacle as he now lost his access to the Nott inheritance as well.

"We have to find her," he ordered.

"Avery is on it," Travers agreed without much hope. "She apparently hasn't left the country so far but is hiding somewhere with Flint and Alecto."

Dolohov grimaced. Flint's part in this wasn't really surprising and only a slight disappointment. A fleeing Alecto Carrow however meant more problems. Greyback wouldn't be happy and until Halloween at least he really needed the Werewolf leader.

"We'll get her," Travers promised despite his lack of conviction. Dolohov wanted to believe him.

.

"What about those?" Travers asked a wee bit later, nodding towards the big group of dark-skinned men. They mostly stayed among themselves and ignored the rest. They were polite to Dolohov but him only.

"Mercenaries from India," Dolohov frowned. "Mostly cannon fodder, meant for taking care of the guards and to stop reinforcements. Only three of them are of any real worth." He gestured towards a trio of Indian that sat separated from the rest: "a scout, a curse breaker and a specialist on mass hypnotism."

"Sounds good," Travers accepted the information. They would need those specialists with not many of those left among the Death Eaters. Too many had died or been incarcerated, with many of the more clever ones among those still free deciding to lay low, wait and see.

"We'll see," Dolohov growled. "Let's take a look at the plans."

.

_**Prague – Mazur Manor – still 14**__**th**__** of September **_

.

"She's still in there?" Harry asked as he entered the room, nodding towards the closed door.

Hermione looked up from her notes and nodded. "Drinking herbal tea and speaking about Earth Magic, Mother Gaia and God-knows-what," she said with a smile. Hours ago a very unusual woman had approached the manor to speak with Neville. Her two young companions – looking awfully wary and unhappy to leave her alone with Neville – were waiting in the garden, ready to intercept the slightest sign of danger. "Her name is Ildiko and she seems nice," Hermione explained. "I think she's far older than she looks and she has a similar aura Meryem had. And Crooks likes her."

"A good sign," Harry grinned, trusting the senses of the Kneazle-formerly-Half-Kneazle since third year.

"It is, isn't it?" Hermione asked thoughtfully.

"What are you reading?" Harry asked, nodding towards the scores of papers lying around. It looked like a mess but knowing Hermione he trusted them to have some hidden but nonetheless careful organization.

"Notes from Matron Mathilda," Hermione answered to Harry's surprise. "She sent them to Daphne and me via Paddoc."

"Notes about what?"

"About her life?" It was half question, half statement. "About Hogwarts and its history," she continued. "Mostly about the house-elves living there…"

"That's certainly interesting, especially for you."

"It is," Hermione nodded. "And educational too," she sighed. "Even after all the conversations there are so many things I don't understand. Some of them get clearer now." She was silent for a while, before she said with a hint of confusion in her voice. "She wants us to write a book, Harry. Matron Mathilda sent us the notes so Daphne and I can write a book about the Hogwarts house-elves."

"That's … incredible."

"It is, isn't it," Hermione confirmed.

Harry was startled as he saw tears shooting into her eyes. "Why are you crying? Isn't that something you would love to do?"

"It is," Hermione nodded, "Daphne as well. We'll do this and we'll love to do. However, she sent us her notes, her diaries, everything."

"And?" Harry frowned. He didn't understand the problem.

"Don't you see? It's her last wish," Hermione sobbed. "She's dying, Harry. I can feel it. Freeing the core room gave her closure. Now she's ready to die. She wants to be reunited with her husband again. Daphne and I don't believe she'll survive until New Year. It's like she's wishing for her death."

.

Only one door away, Neville was heartily enjoying the visit of this strange woman. A single glance into her eyes, a single touch of her hand had been enough to convince him of her connection to Mother Earth. She was already where he wanted to go. Ildiko was old. She was Earth. She was life. She was the epitome of mother.

They had spent the last hours exchanging books and little artefacts, creating earth keys for later visits and learning new tricks from each other. While Ildiko's magic was far stronger and reached far deeper into Earth's heart, it was a completely different kind of magic. It was far more emotion-driven and soul-controlled type of magic, less book-knowledge, less orderly. She obviously liked to learn more about Neville's approach, however, and had no qualms to teach him her own blend of magic. Regretfully she was very busy with her own clan, but she had promised to visit him from time to time, and invited him to the regular Earth rituals of her clan – him and Hermione.

"I fear I have to go now. There is someone waiting for me, someone needing my help or at least me listening to them." Ildiko was thinking about Alecto. Unlike Markus' "little problem", she couldn't be cured in a single night. Alecto would need some time to find her own way. There were good days and there were bad days. Tonight would be a bad night, Ildiko could feel it.

"I would love to continue our conversation at a later time," Neville said as he led her to the door and opened it. Harry and Hermione were waiting there deep in conversation. Hermione looked quite sad, and Neville had no idea why. He would have to ask her when Ildiko was gone.

"Hello Hermione," Ildiko said, stepping forward. Looking at the papers flying around and into Hermione's sad eyes, she lifted her hand and patted Hermione's chin. "Don't be sad. It's a great gift to decide about the day of our departure."

Hermione's eyes widened. How did she know? Before she had a chance to ask, Ildiko pulled a letter from her bag. "Mister Potter, I assume you have a fast and safe way to contact Fabian and Jessica?"

Harry frowned. "The Treskows?" He nodded. "Yes, I have." He had constant contact with the Treskows via Dobby. There was barely a faster or safer way.

Ildiko offered him the letter. "Then I entrust this letter to your care. It is urgent that the Treskows get it as soon as possible."

Harry stared at the letter. There were only the names "Fabian and Jessica Treskow" written on the envelope. He frowned. He knew that handwriting. _Ophelia Nott._ "How…"

"It's not my story to tell," Ildiko said. "She'll tell you in her own time."

After a moment of silence, Harry nodded gravely. "I accept the duty heartily."

.

_**Northern Wales – 15**__**th**__** of September**_

.

Fabian Treskow was waiting for Jessica and a few other senior Werewolves to gather. He smiled for a moment as he remembered Dobby's arrival last night. The little house-elf, even more eager and hyper than usual to safely deliver his letter, had been frantic in his search of Jessica and him.

_Urgent letter, urgent letter_, he had mumbled. _Master Harry told me it's urgent and only for Master Fabian and Mistress Jessica_.

The sight had been funny – the message not so much. After a short consultation with Jessica, he sent messengers to the other packs and a couple of scouts to explore the area.

"What has been so urgent, Fabian?" Ralough asked, while he helped Ol' Mary to sit down. Fabian sent Mary a short smile before answering the question. While Mary was far too old to be part of the intended rescue attempt, her word had grave importance among the Werewolves following the Treskows.

"You certainly remember last year," Fabian started. "when Greyback abducted that Hogwarts teacher." The others nodded, not understanding where this was going. "He was able to do this by blackmailing a number of students."

Ralough frowned, thinking back. "He killed some of their family members and…" His eyes widened in understanding. "You found one of the abducted siblings." Those siblings abducted had been a rough spot on the minds of the free Werewolves.

Fabian nodded. "I got a letter," he waved the envelope. "It has been written by one Ophelia Nott. She describes something a friend of her saw this summer. Alecto Carrow," he shot Jessica a look "was Greyback's prisoner back then. She saw a girl there. It was one of the abducted family members, the last one not found so far after the Congregation freed the other two." The Werewolves nodded. It was broadly known that the Congregation had been able to ransom two children that Greyback had sold to some slaver trader. Even being thirteen year old slaves was perhaps a better fate than staying in the claws of Greyback.

"Isn't Alecto the girl that had been bitten by Jessica?" Mary asked with narrowed eyes.

"She is," Jessica confirmed. "I haven't infected her on that day, me being a Werewolf only thanks to our potion." The others nodded again. The potion was more similar to Polyjuice Potion than to a real transformation. The Treskows had complete control over their minds and were unable to infect others this way. "Greyback did however," the others gasped. "apparently for revenge. He treated her badly even for his standards," the others paled, thinking about how the infamous Greyback would have treated her. "But thanks to this Ophelia Nott, she's free now."

"She's free and she wants us to rescue the girl as well," Fabian continued. "We don't know how she's faring today. We don't know if she has been turned. We only know where she was six weeks ago and that she'll likely still be there."

"And this information is trustworthy?" Ralough asked.

"I got this letter via Ildiko. Obviously she trusts this woman."

Ildiko – everybody knew her name. Everybody knew the debt she felt towards the Treskows. She wouldn't betray him or deliver the demand easily. Her word was enough.

"So how do we proceed?" Mary simply asked, closing the matter. They would free this girl – and fast.

.

_**Somewhere in Africa – 16**__**th**__** of September**_

.

The noose was slowly tightening on her. Madam Guille, Vampire lady extraordinaire, could feel it in her unfeeling heart. It started to get serious when they not only conquered one of her most important strong points in the area, but also captured a couple of her men, one of the prisoners having been a lieutenant of hers. He had been loyal and trustworthy in the past, eager to die before betraying her, while quite competent in his narrow field of work. Somehow, however, they had been able to get him alive AND to convince him to spill the beans about her operations – and the location of her main lair. There had been scouts in the area and there was no doubt that the attack was about to happen.

Luckily he had only a vague idea of the layout and strength of it. He didn't know about the traps, the wards – being no magical himself – and especially couldn't warn them of her undead army. Certainly they expected her to have a number of her undead warriors prepared, but they didn't know the real reason for her choice of exactly this spot: the catacombs covered by fifteen centuries of sand.

Soon they would be knocking on her door.

Soon she would unleash hell like this land had never seen.

_Soon…_

.

_**Somewhere near Birmingham**_

.

_**Jessica**_

Jessica had no idea that she was standing at exactly the same spot Alecto Carrow had used months ago for spying out the area. The street was filthy, the houses neglected. This neighbourhood would never fetch some "most beautiful garden" competition – if there even had been any garden around.

There weren't many "normal" residents left but it wasn't difficult to notice the Werewolf guards covering the area. So far she had noticed three permanent guards, two of them patrolling the perimeter while the last one hung around on the plain roof of the tallest house. He was smoking, drinking something – certainly purely for medical reasons – and more or less watching the streets below.

_They're feeling safe_, Jessica decided. _They don't expect an attack_.

They had convinced Bill Weasley to help. He would have done so anyway, but a short conversation with Tremors made certain that the Goblins agreed with the cooperation and supported the whole operation – something they wanted to make known afterwards. While helpful they were still Goblins and a bit of public relations was never bad. Bill was now exploring the perimeter with one of the Werewolves from Mary's pack, pondering how to dismantle the wards protecting the area. The wards certainly were one of the reasons for the Werewolves to feel so safe around here.

After a last glance around, Jessica left her spot. It was time to meet the others.

.

_**Ralough**_

Ralough was waiting for the right moment to advance. The hiding spot of his little team had been chosen far enough away from their destination not to risk detection. He had to be careful, especially with someone like Gwyneth in his team. Gwyneth was no fighter like him, no hunter like Jessica and certainly no war leader like Fabian. She was the complete opposite really, but Mary had simply demanded for her to be part of his team and as usual they had listened to the old grizzled she-wolf.

Gwyneth actually was the Werewolf equivalent of a housewife and mother. She emitted an aura of softness and tenderness, something very unusual for her folk. Gwyneth had three children so far, the latest birth having happened only three months ago. Because of this she emitted a type of pheromone that convinced Werewolf children of her kind and caring nature. If this imprisoned girl had been changed, she would feel it as well and hopefully react accordingly. If she hadn't been turned, Gwyneth's presence could still be useful. After months of being around Greyback's pack, Ralough had no doubt that the girl would react negatively to someone like him.

They certainly didn't need the girl bolting at the first opportunity, not with time being a serious factor.

There was the signal. Time to act.

.

_**Fabian**_

With adoring eyes, Fabian watched Jessica climb the exterior of the building. She had been able to knock out the two patrolling guards without anybody noticing and was now on her way to do the same with the one on the roof.

Over there was Ralough with his team and they exchanged a curt nod. It was nearly time for him to advance. Fabian however would stay right here. As far as they knew, there were a total of sixteen Werewolves in the area. Five of them were children or teenagers, two were mothers – normally non-combatants but certainly ready to fight if someone threatened the children. With three guards put down by Jessica, this left six more to take care of. Four of them were in one of the side buildings right now and it was his job to take care of them.

What should they do with those werewolves? They had been discussing the question very seriously. Some of them wanted to simply kill them, so they would be no danger in the future. Others suggested taking them prisoner, without answering what should happen to them afterwards. With more time to prepare the operation, they could have prepared some potion solution: perhaps a potion that caused a long-term poisoning, to blackmail them into leaving the country. Or, as Jessica suggested, a compulsion potion that convinced them to do the same. Both were only temporary solutions and he didn't like either – even if they had been feasible in the short amount of time which they were not.

On the other hand, he didn't think they had the right to simply kill prisoners out of hand. Doing such would make them no different than Fenrir. This philosophy however wouldn't stop him from using lethal force in the fight. He was especially interested in meeting that one Swedish Werewolf which was currently in charge of the den. Lundström was quite infamous even around the British Isles for his brutality. He could have been a brother of Fenrir, only he didn't turn children but rather loved to tear them to pieces, feasting on their flesh and drinking their blood. Only a pack leader like Fenrir would be willing to accept such a primitive monster into his pack. Even his fellow countrymen loathed him and there was a high prize on his head: 5,000 galleons. That Lundström was still alive was even more proof of his vicious reputation.

If he had the chance, he would end the man's life today.

.

_**Jessica**_

_He's a sight to behold_, Jessica thought. She had knocked out the last guard and given the sign for the attack. Now it was her duty to watch out for reinforcements. She had one of the hunting rifles over her shoulder that her pack owned, complete with silver bullets and some runes to stabilize the weapon and to lower its recoil. The Goblins had created them, after Fabian promised to take good care of them. Such a weapon in Fenrir's hands wouldn't be funny.

With no reinforcements showing up so far and Ralough's team already in the main building, Jessica had enough spare time at her hands to watch her Fabian fight. The results of their reconnaissance had been correct so far. Right after raising the alarm, four Werewolves under the leadership of that Lundström bastard had left the building, ready for a fight and with a number of weapons in hands. She noticed a silvery glimmer around the wicked looking sabre Lundström was wielding, his hands protected by heavy gloves, and for a moment fear gripped her heart. While they weren't as vulnerable to silver today as they would be fully transformed in the night of the full moon, a cut with that weapon would seriously hurt Fabian.

She had no time to wonder if she should intervene, or if she could even warn him, as Fabian used the moment to jump his enemies. The first attack, a double-fisted chop into the undefended neck, cut the man down like an uprooted tree. With barely a gurgle he slumped to the ground, unconscious. His comrades reacted very fast, however. Lundström stood back, waiting for his turn and looking for an opportunity, while the other two tried to attack Fabian from two sides. One was wearing a long knife, the other a heavy crowbar he was handling like a spoon – easy but clumsy.

Jessica glanced around. No reinforcements in sight. Fenrir was on the continent as far as they knew. With their leader away, it was possible that no reinforcements would arrive, with most Death Eaters hating him and his pack as much as the Treskows did. She wouldn't simply trust that hope, however. Looking down, she noticed Fabian dancing around his enemies. He just dodged a strike of the crowbar, grabbed the wrist of the other fighter and pulled him forward, right into a sabre strike of their leader. The following scream was blood curling. Fabian used the moment of stunned surprise to knock his comrade out, disarming him in the move, and hit the seriously wounded knife-fighter over the head with the unwieldy weapon – mostly to end his pain.

Silver sabre against crowbar – not the best starting position but Fabian had gone against worse odds in the past.

.

_**Ralough**_

Ralough smashed his opponent against a wall, knocking him out cold. He had to struggle to suppress his urge to follow up with another attack, one that would end the man. He had promised Jessica and Fabian to avoid deaths as much as possible and he intended to keep his word. A second later Ralough staggered, as one of the she-wolves jumped his back and clawed as his neck and face, trying to kill him for beating up her puny mate. Naturally she wasn't really turned into a wolf tonight, but she behaved and fought like she was.

_She's defending her cubs_, Ralough realized. They had expected that. In a way it was her right to attack him, and he hated the idea of injuring her, especially now with the cubs cowering in the corner and watching the fight with wide, scared eyes. They looked pitiful – dirty, emaciated and beaten. The pair of mothers didn't look much better. _They can't have an easy life at this place_, he mused, while trying to pull her of his back.

"Stop it!"

The scream actually achieved its goal and the fighting stopped for a moment. Ralough turned around, the angry she-wolf still on his back. He needed some time to realize that it had been Gwyneth screaming. He had never heard her raise her voice like that. She was always calm, controlled and caring, never loud and … angry.

"Stop it!" She repeated. "We are no threats to your cubs."

The claim would have been ridiculous if uttered by any other member of his team, especially with her standing in the middle of their cubs. Gwyneth however was pouring mother-wolf pheromones into the air en masse and the sight of the cubs obviously trusting her to protect them was enough to give their mothers pause.

"We are only here because of the one cub that isn't yours," Gwyneth continued a tad calmer now. "Please stop to fight. We don't want to hurt you."

"You mean the sad one?" One of the cubs whispered-asked.

"Yes," Gwyneth nodded, her eyes turning misty. "Where is she, little one?"

The cub gestured towards one of the doors, a heavy latch keeping the door shut with an equally heavy lock on it. "She's crying at night," the cub whispered. So she was alive at least. Ralough watched her walking over to the door. Gwyneth, sweet nice Gwyneth, put her little hand around the lock and simply ripped it open. She was in full mother-wolf mode now. She vanished in the corridor behind the door, and the mother on Ralough's back – apparently a tad calmer now – slipped from his back and walked to the cub that had answered Gwyneth's questions, hugging him and waiting for Gwyneth's return.

They hadn't to wait for long before Gwyneth came back, a child on her arms and her eyes on fire. If the cubs in the main room looked pitiful, this one was heart-wrenching. Ralough gulped. How could any werewolf treat a cub like this? And she was a cub. She had been turned, he could smell it.

"How dare you," Gwyneth whispered hoarsely towards the pair of mothers. "How dare you allow this to happen to a cub?" The tiny, pinched and hurt girl cuddled into her arms, the hairs long, dirty and unkempt. The eyes were immensely wide as she looked around, and the look in them far older than it was right for any child to be.

"She's not ours," one of the mothers mumbled, hugging her own two. For a second Gwyneth's glare melted. She understood the fear of a mother, her urge to protect her own children even at the expense of other cubs. Then her look hardened again. "It was still your duty to defend her. You should have found a way. You should have brought her to her family or to us." She was nearly screaming now, only keeping a last bit of control not to frighten the girl in her arms even more.

"We didn't know if we could trust your pack," the other mother recalcitrantly responded. This earned her only another glare.

"But you trusted Greyback?" Gwyneth sneered: "A wolf known for turning children against their will; a wolf making a beast like Lundström his deputy." The mothers shuddered. "Do you really want your cubs growing up like them?" She asked – her voice now far softer, urging. "Do you want them to miss their fathers?" She nodded towards the unconscious wolf-mate on the ground. "Today he survived, next time he won't. If you stay here, if you allow your mates to follow Greyback, they'll be dead before the year ends."

"We have no other place to go," the first mother stated, her voice defeated. "We can't go back to our home."

"Fabian could speak with your old packs on your behalf," Ralough interjected, speaking for the first time. "He has many friends abroad as does Ol' Mary. Or you could go to Provence. We know the leader down there. Or simply stay with us. You would be on probation for a while, but we wouldn't hurt you or let you starve." The mothers looked thoughtful, anxious to protect their cubs.

"It's your decision," Gwyneth urged. Her eyes resting on the five cubs, it was obvious which decision she would chose in their stead. Without another word she left, the rescued girl on her arms and Ralough trailing behind.

They had saved one child today. Hopefully the other five would follow.

.

_**A/N**_

_Thanks again for reminding of the girl's fate. _

_Next chapter: time to take care of the Horcrux in Prague._


	25. Chapter 25 Live by fire

_**A/N - Warning**_

_**Chapter contains mentioning of some quite sick perverts among Greyback's pack members and their special "preferences" and "cravings".**_

**.**

**Live by fire, die by fire**

.

_**Prague – 16**__**th**__** of September evening**_

.

_**Fenrir**_

"Boss still freaking out?" Finley asked, pointing towards the thick door of Greyback's room.

Ethan only shrugged in return and yawned, showing his impressive teeth – impressive even while human. He wasn't concerned about the enraged ruckus, result of an unwelcome message from their main lair in Birmingham. The duo belonged to the decreasing number of British Werewolves left in Fenrir's pack. Both were too stubborn and vicious to leave their leader like the others, even after all the setbacks of the past months. It did help that they had nowhere to run with high bounties on their heads all over Europe.

Finley was a widely known serial rapist – boy or girl, child or elder, it didn't matter to him. There were at least fourteen cases known in five countries. Some of his victims had been imprisoned for days before he allowed them to escape. He never killed them. Instead he preferred to break them, relishing in the knowledge that he had scared and scarred them for life. It was his own path to immortality.

Ethan on the other hand loved fire and pain. He liked to burn down family homes in the night, finding delight in the ensuing panic and screams. He still came off every time he thought about the one night he forced a married couple to watch their three children die in the flames. They had simply been far too happy while playing in the park, without consideration for his headache in any way. They deserved to burn, did they not?

Yes, Finley and Ethan were a lovely couple, right the kind of Werewolves that were drawn to Greyback's presence. Now they listened to their boss bluster around, blowing off his steam. He hadn't taken well the news about the abduction of the girl. In Greyback's eyes it was an abduction and not a rescue, as he had big plans for her. In his opinion she hadn't been a prisoner but a cherished guest – regardless of how he treated her. Obviously he had seen something in her. More than once he had told Ethan about how she would grow into his crown princess. He had even stopped Finley from raping the girl, proof of how important she had been for him. Now, she was gone, just like the Carrow bitch. _He never should have allowed Dolohov to take her away_, Ethan mused.

He had no doubt that Greyback would depart for Birmingham very soon. He simply had to go back, to take everything under control again. The camp would be in an uproar after the fight. Finley would accompany him, while Ethan would take control of the Werewolves left in Prague. _A couple of days without supervision_, Ethan smiled evilly. Time he would have to put to good use somehow. He had to think about this opportunity.

.

_**Hogwarts – 17**__**th**__** of September**_

.

_**Augusta and Agatha**_

"They're a cute couple, aren't they?" Agatha Pinegrew asked watching Luna and Millie, while sharing a last cup of tea with Augusta Longbottom before they had to leave for their Transfiguration lessons. It was a typical Tuesday morning in Scotland. The sky promised a nice late summer day and both ladies enjoyed teaching for a change. Augusta had 3rd years Hufflepuff and Gryffindors first, while Agatha – having her mastery and being allowed to teach the most advanced courses – used the morning for a special project with the NEWT Ravenclaws and Slytherins. They would – with the allowance of Headmaster Flitwick naturally – make some changes about the common rooms of both houses. It was an opportunity to learn how to interact with the magic of the castle, and coincidently a promotion of house unity. Her classes would be among the first to have a look at the common room of another house – at least a first official look, as there had been several unofficial visits in the past.

The first two weeks of school had been unbelievable relaxed, friendly and enjoyable. With the Death Eaters mostly gone – the public didn't know about the remaining danger of the Horcruxes, or the fact that Voldemort was only incarcerated, not dead – and the headmaster's plans about house unity and tolerance, both regarding blood status and races, in full fly, it was quite a change to the former years under Dumbledore. It helped that there wasn't any magic relic hidden at the school, a basilisk running around or a mad inquisitor torturing the students. Today, school life was as it was meant to be: a refuge for learning and friendship – and a little love.

At least if you forgot about the whole Sirius Black matter. Augusta liked the boy, really. She called him boy because in her eyes he still had to grow up. However, making him a teacher was a bit hasty. The students liked him and, surprisingly, respected him even. The older girls adored him and even some of the female teacher turned into giggling schoolgirls around him. At least he knew what he was speaking about. Still, she would have preferred for Remus Lupin to return as a teacher. Headmaster Flitwick had even offered him the job, but apparently Remus loved his new profession – taking care of libraries. The Ministry had offered him a lifetime chance in examining the libraries of those Death Eaters that had been imprisoned, killed or on the run. It would occupy him for years to come, she assumed. _Hermione had been drooling when Remus told her about it with a wicked grin on his scarred face_, Augusta remembered fondly.

Now she nodded slowly. "I always thought the Lovegood girl to be something special. She's taking after her mother, a wonderful woman. We really betrayed Selene by not taking better care of her girl after her mother's death."

Agatha nodded. "Luckily she had Harry and his friends."

Augusta wholeheartedly agreed. "And the Bulstrode girl – she isn't very clever, beautiful or graceful, but she has her heart in the right place. And it needs courage to stand up to a father like hers as she did."

The mentioned girls were sitting side by side at the Ravenclaw table with some of the other 'Claws watching over them. There had been some teasing and taunting first, but Mandy Brocklehurst had been adamant and outspoken in her support. It certainly helped her arguments that Gregory Goyle had been standing at her side, cracking his knuckles and glaring at every Claw stupid enough to say anything disparaging about Millie. Mandy and Greg were now sitting near Luna and Millie. They were friends, and there were bets running about if they became a couple and when.

"Times change, people change," Agatha mentioned.

"For the better," Augusta agreed.

.

_**Petunia and Emma**_

The students were hanging on every word of Petunia as she continued Emma's explanation on how it was possible to transform bio energy into electricity. The discussion starter had been a comment of a Ravenclaw Muggleborn 5th year, who mentioned the "pig energy farm" in the film "Mad Max beyond Thunderdome". He had told his schoolmates about the film from 1985 and they hadn't been able to understand the statement about shovelling pig poo. Petunia and Emma agreed to organize a physics/chemistry mixed lesson to explain that interaction. It was pretty advanced after only one year of learning scientific basics but the students were eager to learn; most of them at least, as a few were still stubborn unbelievers on principle.

_Petunia is a good teacher_, Emma mused. She looked far better today than a year ago, more content and happy. Dudley was doing well at his school – or at least better than before. Apparently there was only the matter of some girlfriend spoiling the joy. There had been some phone calls about illicit absences. So far Petunia had been surprisingly relaxed about the matter, mostly because that girl pushed Dudley to do his best at school and sports. Not your usual girlfriend, obviously. Dudley certainly could do worse.

Emma sighed. At least Petunia got to see her son from time to time. She would have to wait until Hermione returned from Prague to see her. Even Dan wasn't around very much these days. He was working at a street clinic in some less elegant part of London, helping the mostly Arabic and Pakistani community. In the beginning there had been some quarrels about allowing a Christian physician to treat their children, but that had stopped after a sudden message of their local Imam, for reasons unknown but very helpful. Hermione had been proud of her father's decision to continue his good work, this time closer to his family. He intended to return to Sudan in a few years, together with Emma and Hermione.

Emma looked up as the door of the class room opened and Penelope Clearwater entered. The young woman had continued to teach the junior potion classes and it was only a matter of time until she finished her mastery. In a year she would accept the title of head of house Ravenclaw, according to Filius' plans – the youngest house head ever, even younger than Professor Snape had been. She was a good choice, in Emma's eyes. She only hoped the responsibility wouldn't be too much for her. _Perhaps Roxanne should keep the position for another year_, she mused.

"Sorry for the interruption," Penelope said with a controlled voice. "However, I need to speak to Mister Michaels. Mister Hawkins – you as well, please," she added after a moment. Both boys looked surprised, Michaels even a little fearsome. Since he had been part of Professor Trelawney's abduction, he didn't have an easy life at Hogwarts. Only Hawkins, a close friend since their first year, had been supportive and understanding. Nowadays, with his sister still missing and his parents killed, he certainly didn't share the otherwise happy aura of the other students.

"You may go," Petunia allowed and the boys hastened to follow Penelope outside, even forgetting to wrap up their school things.

After a moment of hesitation, Emma decided to follow them. Penelope had looked very concerned. Perhaps she could be of help somehow.

"Let's continue," Petunia draw the attention of the other students back on the matter at hand. "You see, there is much energy stored in a gas like methane. We only have to find a way to make use of it, safely, without blowing everything up…"

.

_**Penelope and Jessica**_

Penelope led the small group into another empty class room across the corridor. Michaels paled as he noticed the woman waiting there. Everybody knew who Jessica Treskow was – and what she was: a Werewolf. He staggered and would have fallen without Hawkins' steadying grip. Penelope had expected this reaction, prompting her to summon the boy's friend as well.

"My … sister?" Michaels asked hoarsely, a mix of panic and sadness in his eyes. He obviously expected to hear about another death of a loved family member.

"We found her," Jessica stated simply. She could have been nicer but her mind was on Fabian's condition right now. Only as she noticed how Michaels slumped to the ground, did she realize how this sounded. "She's alive," she hurried to add.

Penelope kneeled in front of the boy and repeated with a softer voice, clasping his hands while she spoke: "your sister is alive and safe, Mister Michaels."

"She is?" Michaels asks, not caring about the tears streaming down his face. "Really?"

"Yes," Jessica nodded determinedly. "We learned about … about the place where she had been kept two days ago. We freed her yesterday."

"How … how is she? Can I see her?"

"I'm here to take you to her," Jessica explained. After a gesture from Penelope she added: "you and your friend." Hawkins nodded. He would be there for his friend. He knew how much Michaels blamed himself for his sister's fate. Hawkins had no idea how much the burden would intensify with Jessica Treskow's next words.

"However, I have to tell you something about your sister…"

.

_**Prague – Mazur Manor – 17**__**th**__** of September evening**_

.

"They freed her," Harry greeted Grazyna with the broadest grin. Grazyna grimaced as Harry clasped her shoulders and shortly hugged her, full of joy. Hermione smirked and Daphne rolled her eyes. Apparently his behaviour wasn't anything new for them.

"You're speaking about the werewolf girl?" She enquired.

"Yeah," Harry nodded happily. "I hadn't expected them to act this fast, but Jessica wanted to free her as soon as possible." He turned somewhat for serious as he continued. "She had really been turned into a Werewolf. She hasn't been treated as bad as feared but it's still terrible. They are taking her in for a while, helping her with the transformation."

"That's still good to hear. And it matches something I learned from our _Allies_ today." She accentuated the word allies with her fingers. "Three occupants of the lair left last night – one of them was Fenrir Greyback."

Harry whistled. "He's going back to Britain."

"That's what I assume as well," Grazyna nodded.

"We have to make good use of this," Neville interjected. "If Greyback is away, the defence of the lair should be weakened."

Harry agreed. "According to our knowledge this leaves only Avery and a dozen defenders, mostly lower echelon."

"But a few Werewolves as well and perhaps a Vampire or two," Hermione dampened the good spirit with her warning. Bramasov told them that no Vampire would support Dolohov for now, but she didn't intend to trust him completely.

"It's still the best chance we'll get. We have to move fast. Agreed?"

Harry looked around. One by one his friends agreed. They would take care of the Ring tomorrow.

.

Grazyna, Hermione and Neville had left, only Daphne remaining in Harry's room. She looked a bit uneasy, and Harry decided to wait for her to start a conversation about whatever she had on her mind. Quietly, he prepared some tea for the both of them and attentively arranged two plates with a selection of cookies.

"We shouldn't go all alone tomorrow," Daphne started after a while.

"Basically I agree," Harry declared calmly. "However, we can't ask the Czech Ministry for help. Dolohov certainly has his ears everywhere. And it would be too suspicious to call in British help – even if they could assist us right now, with a big number of Aurors occupied in Africa and the rest covering at home."

"There is another possibility," Daphne drawled slowly.

"Why do I get the impression that you have been hiding something from me?" Harry asked, his small smile dampening the seriousness of the question.

"Because I have?" Daphne responded with a small guilty grimace.

Harry frowned for a second, thinking about it. "There is someone around? Keeping an eye on us?" Daphne nodded.

"Aunt Ana?" Harry guessed correctly. Daphne nodded again.

"Should have guessed from the start," Harry groaned, looking more annoyed than angry.

"Mum wanted to protect us," Daphne tried to explain.

"I assume she's not alone?"

"No, Ruiz is around as well and a couple of Spanish Aurors."

"She hasn't been watching us the whole time?" Harry paled as he thought about several moments over the past weeks such an observer would have been – distressing.

"No," Daphne reassured him, patting his blushing cheek. "They were only around … in case."

"Alright," Harry sighed relieved. He forced a smile. "So, let's call them."

"So you're not angry?" Daphne asked somewhat concerned.

Harry shrugged, his grin turning naughty. "Nothing you couldn't atone for with a little massage tonight."

Daphne looked thoughtful before her face broke into a smile. "I'll think about it."

.

_**Birmingham – 18**__**th**__** of September early morning**_

.

Another country, another lair and another temper tantrum – Finley rolled his eyes, feeling slightly annoyed, as he had to listen to the mad ravings of his boss, again.

"Lundström is dead."

The message had been like a fist into the stomach. Finley hadn't liked the man-beast. Nobody "liked" men like him. But he respected him and sometimes they had done something together – something entertaining. He would get the victims first and Lundström later. The other way round would have been senseless; or he allowed mothers and sisters watching their families getting brutally killed by Lundström before he turned his very personal attention on them. In their world "red riding hood" never won over the "big bad wolf". _Happy days_, Finley sighed. Regretfully this would happen never again in the future, thanks to that dumbass Treskow.

That Treskow had been injured in the fight – by a silver weapon even – had been no real relief. He would certainly soon be up again, with his contacts to St. Potter and the Goblins nowadays. At best, they would get rid of him for a couple of weeks. After that, he would be a pain in the ass again.

It had been a pathetic bunch of Werewolves waiting for them at the camp. Three of them were still licking their wounds. With no sane healer willing to treat them, they had to depend on their natural hardiness and incredible self-healing powers. One had been killed in the fight, fallen off the house as the Treskow bitch tried to subdue him. Another one died today. It was an unthankful job to be the bearer of bad news, especially with Fenrir Greyback being the recipient.

"I can't believe it," Fenrir raved. "Those bloody traitors – how dare they? HOW DARE THEY?"

Finley shrugged. "They're cowards," he commented the not unexpected act of the runaways.

While he wasn't a very emotional man himself, he knew the strength of family ties, especially between mothers and their children. He had made use of it often enough in the past. A mother allowed you to do funny things with them when you threatened her toddler. Fabian Treskow, while being a stupid softy overall, was still quite an impressive sight to behold. Watching him as he killed Lundström had certainly made quite an impact on the observers.

Three of their fighters, both mothers and five children gone for good – that was the result. In one go, they lost a fifth of their strength. Fenrir would have to stay around for a while to ascertain that nobody else followed them. Perhaps he could even get their scent and take revenge. He really needed to make a statement otherwise the last Werewolves of his pack left him as well, assuming him to be weak.

"I want you to go to Poland. Recruit some more Werewolves there."

In theory it was a good idea. After some initial success, the Scandinavian countries had closed their borders. With the assistance of the resident werewolf packs, they had been able to strangle the flow of fresh blood to a tiny trickle. With France, Spain and Portugal assisting the British Ministry, and Fenrir being hated in Italy and Greece, this mostly left Eastern Europe to get new recruits. However, there was one little problem with that idea.

"We won't get many recruits from there," Finley grimaced. "The Mazurs have declared themselves personal allies of Potter."

Greyback fumed. He hadn't heard about that part. The Werewolf packs and Veela clans of Poland and the neighbouring countries had a strange connection. While not liking each other very much, they were political allies, with both parts being scorned for their "less-than-human" nature. With the Mazurs, the political leaders of the Veelas, declaring their support to Potter, the Werewolves would not openly act against him.

"Try it nonetheless. The date of his resurrection is getting near. We need more warriors." And he needed them as well; else Dolohov would decide that his Werewolf ally was of no use anymore.

"Bring me more Claws and Fangs, Finley."

.

_**Forests near Prague – 18**__**th**__** of September midmorning**_

.

"You're leaving?" Alecto Carrow asked, gesturing towards the backpack Ildiko had shouldered. The former Death Eater looked a little queasy about the idea of being left alone.

"Only for a few days," Ildiko said with a curt nod. She turned towards the woman who was still emotionally unstable and in need of moral support. "I'll return soon, but there is someone in need of my healing abilities." Her serious face turned into a soft smile. "They got her free, Alecto. I delivered Ophelia's message to the Treskows and they freed the girl."

"They did?" Alecto suddenly felt a surprising amount of relief, a big knot in her stomach uncurling. She was a bit stunned by her emotional reaction. It was like she really cared for the girl's fate. Did she change this much?

"Yeah," Ildiko nodded again. More serious she continued: "Greyback turned her. She's now with the Treskows. They want to help her cope with the changes." _As will I perhaps as well_, Ildiko mused. "At least she's recovering and not seriously injured – not physically."

Alecto smiled weakly. She knew what Ildiko was hinting at. "And who is in need of your healing?"

"Fabian Treskow," Ildiko sighed. She felt a tad guilty about the man's injuries, despite her only delivering the message. It has been his – not very surprising – decision to act on it. "He got injured by a silver weapon. He'll overcome it, I'm sure, but perhaps I can hasten the recovery."

"Alright," Alecto said with a low voice. "Please come back soon."

"I will." _Perhaps not alone_.

.

_**Prague – 18**__**th**__** of September evening**_

.

_**Ruiz**_

As they passed the streets of Prague's suburb, they met several groups of those hooligans Harry had told them about in the meeting. Ruiz didn't like them – neither their behaviour, how they dared to ogle the duo of female Aurors accompanying them, nor the fact that they carried around those weapons far too openly. But it wasn't his duty to deal with them, especially not tonight. A tiny part of him, however, hoped that they would break their promise, betray them and thereby offer him an opportunity to kick some of their asses. Aside from Ana and him, their team consisted of five Spanish Aurors. Two of them were curse-breakers and soon there would be an opportunity to make good use of their abilities. The other three had been chosen for their special talent in infiltration. While Harry and his friends would be the ones to go deeper into the lair and retrieve the ring, they had to smooth him the way. He had every intention to do this job right.

"Will you accompany them?" He asked his boss.

To his surprise, Ana shook her head. "I certainly could. I fit the bill with my abilities. However, those four are at their strongest on their own. And they won't be completely alone."

Ruiz nodded, glancing at the four animals accompanying them with a small smile. While the four teenagers obviously hated the idea of their little friends getting hurt, their senses were far too advantageous to leave them behind. Hedwig had just returned from a scouting – seriously protected by a number of notice-me-not and chameleon spells. Mandragora was riding on Neville's shoulder, invisible so as not to draw attention. There weren't many teenagers running around with two feet owls on their shoulders. The spell hid the fact, as well, that her feathers weren't the usual colour but somewhat greyish – a result of his stoneskin spell. The boy had been experimenting with the spell for a while, and he had to be very careful about the casting, else it would impede the owl's flying abilities. It was an impressive spell work, Ruiz had to admit. The usual pair of tomcats was prowling around as well, keeping their distance from the group and those hooligans. Their senses would be most welcome tonight.

.

_**Hooligans**_

Not too far away, two well-known hooligans were watching the group of foreigners advance towards their destination – a destination they had promised to protect.

"Do you really intend to allow this to happen?" Ruffian asked, obviously unhappy about the whole matter. The pay had been good, there had been promises of more... And he actually liked some of those occupants – especially the one that was in lead now: Ethan. He had some funny ideas about how to amuse oneself. Ruffian would hate to see him die, and die he would tonight if they allowed this group of Brits to enter, he had no doubt about it.

"We made a deal with Bramasov," Dandy drawled, reminding him of the agreement. Bramasov was an important connection – at least until someone was successful in taking over the clinic, a deed he intended to perform in the near future. "However," he continued with a wicked grin "we only promised to allow them to enter. There is nothing stopping us from following them."

"Right," Ruffian nodded, his mood lifted. "I'll prepare the men."

"You do that…"

.

_**Ana**_

The magical teamwork of the quartet was a marvellous sight. Hermione had grumbled a bit about Daphne's ability to sense the wards without any wand-waving, by concentrating alone. It was a cute sight and doing much to help the group relax, certainly not an effect intended by Hermione but still welcome. Ana, like Hermione, was unable to do more than feel the presence of the wards hiding the lair. She couldn't hope to accomplish what Daphne did right now.

It looked like she was catching something invisible like a single hair hovering in the air. Then, she pulled something, slowly and carefully. It was like someone pulling a thin sheet out of a box. She lifted it into the air and for the first time Ana saw the real destination area. It wasn't as untended and ramshackle as it had looked. Carefully Daphne continued to pull that sheet of magic, using Harry and Neville as pillars or more like doorframes. Hermione filled the gaps with her own magic and slowly an entrance formed; an entrance only visible to the four friends and Ana. They had to be especially careful, as they didn't want to trigger any alarms.

One by one Ana led her team through the entrance. For an observer it was as if they simply vanished into thin air. When done, first Hermione followed, then the boys and cats, and last Daphne, who gently put the edge of her sheet down onto the ground. She left only a tiny window opened, powered by a couple of energy stones created by Neville and Harry: a cat flap.

The ward was still doing their job, but they had beaten it.

Next stop: entrance door.

.

_**Hedwig**_

"Hello my friend."

If Hedwig was flabbergasted by the fact of a tall northern raven was speaking to her, she surely didn't show it. The snow-white owl simply bobbed her head and continued to watch her master. Because of her connection, she was still able to see his outline. The others were there as well, with Daphne and Balou being the most clearly visible phantoms. It was her duty to stay outdoors and watch the area. She didn't like this but she wouldn't disappoint her friend/master. She glanced around, her eyes tunnelling on the group of hooligans advancing slowly. They were behaving suspiciously.

"They'll betray your friends," the raven said. "They're not exactly trustworthy." Hedwig glared at the raven, her owl-eyes telling him that she didn't think him to be very trustworthy either.

"You're right about not trusting me," the raven grinned. A human wouldn't have detected the grin but it was there. "However, for tonight, I'm on your side." The raven watched her for a moment like waiting for a response. Unsurprisingly he didn't get one. "Could you do me a favour?" Hedwig actually huffed. "Please keep an eye on them and warn me if they're ready to break the truce. I'll take a look at the other side of the area but I'll return soon."

Hedwig glared at him for a while before she bobbed her head once. Her eyes told him: you better keep your word.

"And be careful should you see someone with dark-red robes." A picture appeared in Hedwig's mind, showing a couple of wizards in dark-red robes with some kind of silvery runes stitched on them. "They're dangerous. We can't allow them to get near your friends."

Hedwig bobbed her head again. She understood.

.

_**Ruiz**_

The next minutes proved to be an opportunity for Ruiz to show off why he was Ana's deputy, deserving his position and reputation. The first defence layer of the lair was a bunch of guard dogs. They didn't behave like your run-of-the-mill neighbourhood dog and even the most ravenous Doberman would look like a cute lap dog in comparison. They stank of magic and something… awful. Ruiz was wading through their cadavers, wand in the left and a long slender rune-covered sword in the right, cutting them down with deadly strikes and pinpoint Lancea spells before they had a chance to attack the Aurors at his sides.

"Tack tack tack!"

A pair of Death Eaters rushed into sight from the right, only to be cut down by Auror Marina's silenced SMG. They had falsely trusted in the protection of the anchored shield of the prepared defence position, a deadly error as Curse-Breaker Lucas was glad to show them. With a hurried salvo of silent combat gestures, Ruiz sent Javier, the second curse-breaker, and a duo of Aurors to the left to protect their flank, while he intended to press forward, clearing the way for the quartet of teenagers following them.

They had barely made two dozen steps through the far too empty corridors when Crookshanks' hiss warned Ruiz about imminent danger. The orange fur-ball ran back like a living lightning bolt and Ruiz followed him swiftly without hesitation.

"Scutum Terrestris," Neville bellowed, followed a second later by a "Scutum Aquae" spell from Hermione. The corridor they had intended to pass only moments ago was now blocked by a four-feet wall of layered stone and water. The whole area was shaking a second later as an explosion rocked the wall.

Ruiz was impressed, and not for the first time. Crooks' warning and the fast reaction of the teenagers had certainly saved the lives of his team. Hermione now pulled her conjured water-wall to a spot between Neville's stone-wall and the Spanish team. It was meant to protect them from stray splinter, as Neville didn't simply banish his stone-wall. Instead he clapped his hands forcefully and the wall exploded like an antipersonnel mine, filling the air with thousands of deadly splinters. Even the sound of the water wasn't able to fully suppress the shrieks of pain from the group of Death Eaters that had been waiting in ambush and rushed in to take them down, expecting the explosion to have caused injury and daze among the unwelcome intruders.

The sight of the mangled bodies was horrendous. Recognizing his expression for what it was, Hermione put an arm around Neville's waist for a moment, telling him that she thought no less of him because of his wartime behaviour. She had no doubt that he would have nightmares in the near future. It was a price they had to pay for their participation in this war. She would be there for him every step of the way.

.

_**Avery**_

He should have known. Dolohov had barely left the lair and withdrawn the bulk of men when the shit was hitting the fan. There were intruders. There couldn't be with their allies guarding the area, yet there they were. And they were intruding fast, too fast to stop them.

He had a decision to make: fight or flee. Avery wasn't a coward and he was an accomplished fighter, but whoever was fighting his way through the lair wouldn't be a weakling as well. Without knowledge of the weakened condition of the lair – something nobody could guess – they certainly chose a striking force big enough to overcome any resistance. No, he had no chance to keep them at bay. He knew where his place was right now. He wouldn't disappoint his master.

"Slow them down," he ordered his men. They grumbled but obeyed, realizing as well as Avery that he sent them to their graves. Without hesitation Avery turned around and rushed through the lair, towards the place he had in mind, the Horcrux' vault.

.

_**Hedwig**_

Something happened, something.. disturbing. Hedwig felt it in her hollow bones, but wasn't able to comprehend what the men in dark-red robes were doing. Whatever it was: it was confusing and it separated her from her master and friend. Forewarned, she kept her distance from those men. Turning around she glared at the raven, as if asking what to do. The raven didn't look happy right now, but still unconcerned.

"Do you want us to follow them?" With his sharp beak he pointed at the group that was entering the lair now. They consisted of around a dozen men, two of those dark-red cloaked among them. Ruffian and Dandy were hanging back, reluctant to risk their own lives, it seemed.

Hedwig bobbed her head. The raven sighed. "Only because you asked." Hedwig smirked as they entered the lair through the cat flap. _Cavalry is coming._

.

_**Daphne**_

"We'll stay around here," Ana announced a wee bit later. They had eliminated a few more Death Eaters, most of them inexperienced newbies or uncoordinated solo fighters who, while capable duellists in their own right, were no match for Ruiz' coordinated team. Not a single Auror had been injured so far, proving that the decision had been right to exploit the absence of most inhabitants.

Harry gave her a curt nod and gestured his friends to follow. They had used the summer to learn Auror hand signals – both English and Spanish. Mostly they had done this for better cooperation with those allied forces, but the friends used them themselves from time to time. They didn't really need them but it was a good practice.

"Stay with Ana," Daphne whispered to her tomcat. Balou glared back 'you wish'. "Please, Balou," she repeated urgently, "I would feel better with you keeping an eye on her". Grumbling and meowing the tomcat complied and stayed, as the small group departed.

As they forced their way through the second ring of defences – mostly traps and wards of all kind, with a pair of weak golems thrown into the mix that were no match for Neville's Earth and Harry's Fire magic – Daphne felt the magic level increase around them. The magic of confusion and distraction got stronger at this place. She felt a real wall a dozen steps ahead, separating them from a ring of magic that seemed to create a unique and strange place, a place with conditions that had nothing to do with Prague anymore. Daphne put her hand on Harry's shoulder to stop him. He frowned.

"We have to hurry on," he said. "There is something happening not too far away." He pointed onwards. "There are some kind of fire wards and someone is meddling with them."

Hermione paled. "Someone tries to flee with the ring."

Harry nodded. "That's what I fear."

"We still have to be careful," Daphne tried to keep them back. "The area in front of us – it's unreal. It's encircling our destination like a shell. I'm not certain that we would find our way back if all of us pass it together." Harry looked concerned for a moment.

"What if Hermione and I stayed back? Hermione stays here, me in the shell; and only you two advance, like links of a chain," Neville suggested.

"I don't like this," Harry commented, "but it's our best shot, I assume." The rest agreed, and after a last hug Hermione stayed out of the shell, hoping for the best and their safe return.

.

_**Ethan**_

The advance of the four friends hadn't been as unobserved as hoped. There had been quite a number of spying wards lying in wait, and while Daphne detected and disabled most of them, Avery had a good guess about their location – and the fact that the Spanish Aurors had been left behind.

"There has to be a traitor," he fumed. "How else could they find us? How could they have known how to overcome the confusion layer?"

Ethan simply shrugged. He knew even more about the events all over the lair than Avery did, but wouldn't tell him. Everybody had his little secrets to hide. He had his own wards in place, but they were of a different kind, especially created by a good friend to be unobtrusive, to blend in with the magical background area and to emit some kind of aura that was different from the usual in case of someone specially searching for them. The price for the knowledge of those wards had been steep, but worth it. He was a real bastard and a vicious one to add, but he was neither dumb nor careless. He intended to continue his fiery hobby for a long time. There were still many families waiting for their burning graves.

"Take your… men," Avery started, his voice telling Ethan that he had wanted to use the words 'beasts' "and ambush them."

Ethan simply nodded. It was a clever order. The trio of Death Eaters should be enough if a straggler survived and somehow reached the destination, before Avery was able to disable the complicated wards. Ethan's men would be far stronger in the 'confusion ring'. They weren't immune to its effect but still able fighters and, more important, they could transform into their Werewolf alter egos because of the special magic in place. However, he equally knew that Avery had no qualms about sacrificing him and his men, a quite real possibility after everything he knew about the four 'harmless teenagers'. Still he obeyed. He would show him. Gesturing for his four men to follow him, they left the place hastily.

"Let's spill some blood."

.

_**Ana**_

Ana's eyes widened as she got notice of the new intruders. Ten of them at least, perhaps more, she realized. Hastily she warned her team, sending two of them a dozen steps ahead. Their job would be to converse loudly, creating the impression that her team was still a bit ahead. She sent a silent message to the trio that Ruiz had formed to protect their flank. Now it would be their duty to attack that new force from behind. This left only Ruiz, Marina and her. Disillusioning themselves, they prepared for the fight. _This won't be easy_.

.

A snow-white owl and a pitch-black raven were following the intruders. The red-cloak at the front obviously knew his way around here, leading the men through the maze of corridors without hesitation – and with barely a look at the number of dead defenders lying around.

Hedwig felt her friend for a short moment, but he was occupied and somehow vanished only a few seconds later. It was infuriating – as infuriating as the raven at her side. It was obvious that he wasn't a real bird. Not only weren't there many speaking ravens around, despite all kind of fables telling otherwise, but he wasn't flying as graceful as a real bird would. Hopefully her trust wasn't misplaced.

.

Red-Cloak-One, leader of this senseless operation, didn't like his orders, this place, or the whole mission. What could they gain through this nonsense? Their allies were obviously too weak to defend themselves and this rescue mission could easily turn into a bloody disaster for his men. While he didn't really care for them, they were useful. They undertook the day-to-day tasks of their operation and freed him for doing more interesting things like researching. He liked to research. More so: he had to research. Only those who proved themselves capable and a worthy addition to their ranks, got an invitation from their Inner Circle. Red-Cloak-Two and he were competitors for that, something he intended to end tonight. His "friend" obviously had the same intention. There had been that special smirk as he offered him to take the lead_. I'll have to take care of my back_, he fumed inwardly. Gesturing a pair of his men to take the lead, he renewed a number of wards on his robes.

He wouldn't die tonight if he could help it.

.

_**Neville**_

Ethan and his men had reached the shell and immediately felt the impact of the mind magic. As expected, they had been able to transform irrespective of the moon phase. From past experience Ethan knew that they could even keep their Werewolf form for a while after leaving the area. It was hurtful to do so, like the harsh withdrawal from some drug, calling them back into the shell. However, it was possible and he would make good use of it.

"You two go after the girl. Don't fool around, don't try to bite her: simply kill her. Can you do this?" He snarled and got the expected positive, annoyed answers. Ethan wasn't too certain about this part. Those teenagers had far too often proved to be incredible capable fighters despite their youth. However, as far as he knew the girl had no Animagus form – contrary to the boy. He knew the story of Longbottom biting off Bellatrix' arm and felt no urge to experience such a thing himself. Because of this he sent the remaining duo of Werewolves ahead and hung back – ready to flee.

_I will survive._

.

Mandragora leaving his shoulder was the first warning. Neville had been waiting for his friends' return, doing his best to gather his senses. This place was surreal. Hermione in his stead would have detected similarities to "2001 – A Space Odyssey" or perhaps to some painting of Salvador Dali. Neville however simply called it "weird". Too many colours, too many noises, pictures of persons and places long gone, all of them changing every moment. One minute he was in some Stonehenge Area, the next he felt like Captain Kirk on the Enterprise only to have it turned into some Napoleonic Era Ballroom.

After a while, watching that Mandragora coped far better with the place's influence, he decided to change into his Animagus Form. The moon bear had grown another two inches since the fight in Longbottom Manor and gained another twenty pounds. Sometimes Neville wondered where this would end in a couple of years. Right now he was happy for the decision, as his increased sense of smell helped him to differentiate between illusion and reality. And it convinced him just in time that this trio of Werewolves racing through the English garden around him was far too real to be ignored.

With a roar he jumped aside to dodge the left Werewolf and mauled the right one with a heavy paw to the snout. He sensed something break and felt good. Now he only had to be careful.

_Don't get cocky! _He heard Hermione's voice in his head_. _He intended to listen to her.

.

It had been a wise decision to stay back. While Ethan tried to circle around that strange bear to attack him from behind, he left it to his two comrades to take the brunt of his counter-attacks. One jaw was already broken and the other one protected his left side were some ribs had been hit. The wolves were faster, but not by much, and the bear was incredible strong.

Just right now one of them distracted the bear, allowed the other one to make a dashing attack against the bear's throat. Ethan hurried to join the fight, as he didn't want to look like a coward, only to come to a stunned stop. _It was a trap_. The bear had expected the ambush and countered with his own one. He whirled around, hit the shoulder of the second Werewolf with his claws and pulled him forward, into a crushing bear hug. Screams of pain and the sounds of bones crushing felt the air. The wolf would be dead in no time. They had to use the momentum.

Ethan and the last werewolf jumped forward again, as grey feathers filled his sight. Ethan snapped at the irritating bird, only to feel something like little pebbles break away from the wing. It crunched between his teeth. He had no time however to think about it, as talons – as sharp as they were sturdy – started to attack his face. Immense pain filled his head as a talon clawed away his left eye and the other one hit his muzzle, cutting off half an inch of the soft flesh. Whirling around, he hit the owl, more from pure luck than anything else, and sent her flying. She came crushing down a couple of steps away. Ethan snarled. He wanted to jump the owl and rip her apart for daring to attack him. His eye socket burned like hell. However, he heard unwelcome noises from right behind.

Neville had stopped to crush his first opponent as the second one bit his flank. He whirled around for a while to get rid of him, but was unable to do so. Because of this he decided to try another tactic. Jumped towards his unwelcome add, he slammed his not insignificant weight onto the ground – and used the second werewolf as a cushion. The poor beast didn't enjoy the experience, as he felt dozens of his bones break and shatter. He had barely enough breath to spare to whine a bit.

Neville hurled around.

_Mandy!_

His poor owl was on the ground, dazed and perhaps seriously injured. The last Werewolf was nowhere in sight anymore.

.

He had to flee this place, Ethan just realized. He had lost two of his men against that boy and had the feeling that the other duo wouldn't fare much better. The Spanish Aurors were somewhere between him and his freedom, leaving only one route of escape: right into the middle, to Avery's portkey.

.

_**Hermione**_

Hermione had no idea that Neville was fighting for his life right now. Because of the "wall" only a dozen steps away, she had no real warning about the imminent danger either. The pair of Werewolves leaving the shell took her completely by surprise.

Hermione had neither Neville's strength nor Harry's speed, but she was able to compensate with something she had in abundance: intellect and planning. Expecting that sooner or later some stragglers would come running her way, if only to get away from Harry who was a frightening sight when in full battle mode, she had used the time to prepare some nasty surprises. They were tuned to only allow her friends to pass through unharmed and slow everybody else down.

Three steps – that was all they were able to walk, before the first trap got off. It was a mud area spell and as expected slowed them down as their strong but stilt legs hit the soft ground. In seconds they sunk into the mud up to their knees. Perhaps the Werewolves, while wading through the mud, spared a second to wonder about the pair of stone pillars to the left and right. The reason behind their existence became clear moments later. Mimicking something Neville had done thirty minutes ago, Hermione clapped her hands. It wasn't nearly at the same strength in its effect, but the hundreds of splinters battering the wolf skins were enough to cause dozens of tiny wounds and daze them.

"Lancea!" Right now Hermione wished she could use some of Harry's fire spells. His flame whip spell would have been handy. Her bundled ray of magic his the Werewolf on the left into the lower chest and caused him to yelp in pain. The other one, however, was somehow able to get rid of the mud, ignore the pain all over his body and dashed forward – only to be stopped by a ball of fur and claws. Crooks didn't like the idea of werewolf teeth this close to his mistress one bit and did his best to stop this danger from happening. The Wolf was far bigger and stronger, but Crooks was difficult to hit. He scrambled up the wolf shoulder and on his back with ease, being more of a hurting nuisance than a real danger.

The werewolf noticed this after a while and charged Hermione again, this time to get a jet of ice-cold water right into his wide open maw. It was a funny sight: the werewolf gasping for air and trying to dodge the water, all the while being clawed by the furious tomcat on his back. The funny moment stopped as the second werewolf managed, at last, to leave the mud as well. He didn't hesitate and charged Hermione, allowing her barely enough time to raise her left arm to protect her throat from those wicked looking teeth.

"_Don't bite her," Ethan had said_. The werewolf's jaws shut close only to realize a second too late, that the greyish appearance of the skin wasn't some weird make-up. Incredible pain shot through his head as several teeth chipped off, the stone skin spell too much for them. His charge was still strong enough to overwhelm the girl and he pushed her to the ground, trapping her with his body weight. He snarled in pain and searched for a way to bypass her arm, to get near that tasty looking neck.

If Crooks had been defensive of Hermione and angry before, he got beyond furious now. Leaving his first victim, he jumped to the ground, crossed the distance with three long strides and hit the neck of the second werewolf as a ball of claws and teeth. He even seemed to grow. His claws started to glow, Hermione was certain. The Werewolf immediately let go and straightened up. There was no way to get rid of the raging attacker. Within seconds a dozen deep and burning cuts went across his face, the fore-claws ripping away an ear and an eye, while the claws of Crooks back legs slashed at his neck.

Slightly shocked Hermione watched the battle. She could only hope that those streams of blood belonged to the Werewolf only. A deep growl warned her about the attack of the other werewolf. He had been able to overcome the water and raced towards his friend to help him get rid of the clawed terror.

"Reducto!"

It was partly hate and partly fear about Crooks that prompted Hermione to put everything she had in this spell. It felt like Alice did when she had killed McNair. This time a werewolf was the target – the result was the same: broken bones, a copious amount of blood and dirty walls. A single look was enough to convince her that this werewolf would never again threaten anybody.

Hermione turned around. Time for some rescue measure – she only did wonder who was in need of rescue: tomcat or werewolf.

.

_**Ana**_

_Damn!_ Ana cursed. That red-cloak apparently detected the ambush just in time. He stopped a dozen steps ahead and looked around, scrutinizing the area, while allowing two of his men to continue to advance. They wore that gang outfit. So they had really betrayed them. _That will teach us not to trust such scum._

Knowing that her men were waiting for her sign to attack, she opened fire with a pin-point Lancea, right through the first hooligan's face. He had no chance to dodge the surprise attack, but Capitan Ana Hernandez felt no sorrow – at least not right now. Tonight would be a different matter. A second later a bone-breaker followed as Ruiz shattered the shoulder of the hooligan on the right, while a little object passed them and hit the ground among the bulk of intruders. A pair of shields, cast by the pair of Aurors a dozen steps behind Ana, mostly protected them from the effect of the concussion grenade. Regretfully two weird greenish spells seemed to do the same with most intruders. For a moment they appeared kind of translucent and most of the grenade's explosion went right through them. Only two of the intruders hadn't been protected and found them brutally hurled against the walls while dozens of metal slivers cut them to pieces.

_The velvet gloves were off._

.

Hedwig watched the blossoming fight and noticed the arrival of a trio of Spanish Aurors. She wanted to help them, distract their targets for a couple of seconds.

"Be careful," the raven advised her, ignoring his own words only seconds later. While Hedwig stayed close to the ceiling, distracting the intruders by loud screeches that prompted them to whirl around and blindly fire into empty corridors, the raven choose a more direct approach and descended. Horrified and appalled two of the hooligans had to watch as the raven attacked a comrade. Helpless as they feared to hit him as well, they raised their guns and hesitated far too long. Their comrade jumped around, arms flailing, as the raven with un-bird-an strength clung to his neck and confused the man's face with a trunk while he played woodpecker. Only the sound of automatic weapons around them stopped his comrades' torpor and they opened fire – hitting not the bird but only the man, who felt immense relief that the pain stopped.

.

Curse-breaker Javier belonged to Ruiz' team since he left the Spanish Auror Academy four years ago. He was a talented and highly-intelligent man with an unusual feeling regarding dark curses. What he was not, was a patient man. He and his accompanying pair of Aurors had been lying in wait, ready to attack as soon as Capitan Hernandez opened fire. Fourteen intruders he counted all in all. Javier gulped. He was no front-fighter per se, but meant to take down wards and traps while his comrades did the actual fighting. That red-cloak over there gave him the creeps. He seeped a weird kind of magic, a magic he didn't recognize. Javier didn't like the feeling. His moment of hesitation was overcome by the sight of a well-known snow-white owl.

She screeched, and a handful of intruders turned towards the corridor she came from, completely overlooking that the "attacker" was passing them along the ceiling. Javier rushed forward and opened fire, concentrating on firing low so as not to endanger the bird. His comrades, following his example, sent wide-spread Reductos against their opponents, not killing them but knocking them down.

For a few seconds Javier felt invincible. It didn't last for long as the red-cloak turned around and erected a kind of shield to protect him. It didn't look like the usual kind but more like a cloud, slightly moving in the wind. Javier hesitated. He watched the man closely and reacted barely in time as he sent a triplet of rays towards the Spanish team. Javier pushed the left Auror out of the way but the one on the right got hit. For a moment nothing happened. Then his face started to distort in pure terror and he opened fire on the next "threat" – Javier.

.

The fight looked good so far: one intruder dead, a second mostly out of the fight, another duo knocked down by the grenade. The back half of the intruder team was exchanging shots and spells with Javier and his men. This left only a couple of opponents for Ana's team. Far better odds than expected – at least until "her" red-cloak decided to strike back.

The area around her changed, turned into some nightmare forest complete with black, leafless trees, scary noises and fog covering the place. There were a couple of Inferi-like creatures around here, watching her hungrily. Confused and scared as she was, Ana had enough self-control to not open fire immediately. There was something wrong about this. There should have been Ruiz and her other Aurors between the trees as well. If she opened fire now, the chances were great that she hit her own men. But what could she do? Ana started to reach out with her mind, only to pull back a second later, as pure terror poured into her heart. She hastened to erect more barriers around her mind, while watching the scenery, hoping to find a way to differentiate between friend and foe.

It was mostly hopeless. Around her the "Inferi" started to attack each other with Muggle and magical weapons. They mostly seemed to be hesitant as well, but this slowly passed, as fear started to overrule caution. Only one creature was unmistakable. It looked like an Inferi as well, but far smaller. And it run around on four legs instead of two – Balou.

Immense relief shot through Ana's heart. She risked another intrusion of her mind and sent a message to the tomcat: "{Show me the red-cloak}" She ordered and Balou immediately complied. Dodging a couple of attacks he dashed towards one of the Inferi. The Inferi tried to hit Balou but was too slow. Instead of attacking him, Balou dodged everything, sprinted through the Inferi's legs and prompted him to turn around, offering Ana his broad back.

She didn't hesitate a second. "Messorius!" The brutal slicing spell went right through the man's spine, and while he went down in a heap, the area changed back to its former self. They were all real again.

.

Javier's chest got a graze hit by a Reducto, followed by a bone-breaker to his leg a second later. Whatever his comrade saw in him right now, it terrified him enough to only use deadly spells.

"Impedimenta! Expelliarmus! Incarcerous!" The trio of spells was enough to knock the confused Auror out without injuring him. Javier gave his comrade a thankful nod, before addressing the matter of the red-cloak. His target was quite occupied by a black little bird right now. He attempted to hit the raven with several spells, while not endangering his own men all too much. A spell normally used to force-change an Animagus back connected in the end. The bird wavered for a moment, nearly turning into a man for a second, but steadied itself again. The raven scratched the red-cloak's nose, and tears shot into his eyes from the pain. The raven turned away, drawing the spell fire after him. Hedwig used the moment of distraction to descend like a dive bomber of WWII, pecking at the red-cloak's head with her sharp beak.

Confused by the second, formerly unnoticed attacker, the red-cloak was wide open for Javier's spell. The Spanish curse-breaker certainly didn't miss.

.

_**Harry**_

They were awfully close to their destination now. Harry already felt the presence of the Horcrux. Unlike with Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem, he felt no urge to protect the ring. It was a little hypocrite, he knew, but he couldn't help it. The ring felt even dirtier than the other Horcruxes, even more tainted. Daphne concentrated on her life sight for a moment and informed him "three attackers, two of them hidden on the right". Harry nodded and gestured her to take care of the pair of hidden assailants. She would be better capable to take them down while they certainly assumed him to be the bigger threat.

He rounded the last door, eager to stop the disabling of the wards. Most of them had been taken down already and the ring was nearly unprotected now, only a last thin layer shielding its dirtying influence.

_Avery!_ Harry recognized the inner circle Death Eater. He had expected to meet him here. Harry's first Reducto was straight on the man but got deflected by some ward Avery had placed to protect his back. He didn't turn around, apparently trusting his men and shield that now sprang into existence to give him enough time for his furious disarming attempt.

Without losing a step, Daphne hurled two cloud-like spells towards the invisible assailants. They engulfed them and coloured them – yellow the left and a baby-pink the right. Both clouds were filled with a disgusting mix of mall jingle and baby crying, making any attempt at concentrating awfully difficult. Without waiting for any return fire, Daphne executed a graceful back flip, freeing Harry's line of sight. He used it for a widespread spray of flames, mostly to scare them as it was more noise and flash than actual heat. The assailants weren't willing to risk any burns and dodged to the sides, raising their wands to take the boy down. For now they mostly ignored Daphne, despite the jingles and crying grating on their nerves. The coloured clouds lingered on their clothes, making it impossible to hide again. They had to fight in the open, odds they didn't appreciate.

In the meantime Avery realized that his plan just went through the drain. His men weren't capable of distracting this pair of teenagers long enough for him to carefully take down the last ward. He could nearly reach the ring. There was only one last layer separating him from his booty. However, forcing his way through this layer would trigger the last defence – Fiendfyre. His mind raced. He had his portkey on hand. It was specially crafted to allow him to flee even from this place. If he timed it right, he could grab the ring and flee before the Fiendfyre filled the whole room with deadly, uncontrollable flames. Take a couple of deep breaths he steadied himself for the task at hand.

_Potter won't get this Horcrux. Our master will return._

.

This duo of Death Eaters was far better at coordinating their attacks than the other they had battled so far. Daphne had no idea that they belonged to a small number of juniors, hand-trained by Avery. Despite her early success, it got more and more difficult to keep them down while defending Harry against stray spells. He was still taking down the protective ward and even Daphne was able to feel now that time was short.

Something warned her and she whirled around, only to have the surprising sight widen her eyes. So far they had rarely met an Animagus in battle and never among junior Death Eaters. Perhaps this had been the reason for Avery to choose this one to join his special group. The man lost his human shape and turned into something more earthbound, with four legs, a long slender tail and vicious looking teeth – teeth that could be poisonous, as the creature resembled a Komodo dragon. Surprisingly fast it dashed towards Daphne while his comrade occupied her with a couple of hip-high spells.

"{Concentrate on Avery}" she sent the message to Harry. He trusted her enough to comply and redoubled his efforts. The shield in front of him was already wavering, as he punched another whole through its fabric.

A silent Protego stopped the human assailant's next spell, while Daphne's eyes rested on the rushing lizard. At the last moment she made a punching motion towards the ground to have a pillar of focussed air propel her towards the ceiling, allowing her a good look at the back of the confused lizard. A moment later she landed exactly on that back. A wave of her hand and a stream of hot air hit the human, staggering him long enough to give Daphne the time for her next move. She made a flip towards Harry.

"{Flame now!}" She mind-screamed, while dodging the lizard's snapping teeth with another flip to the side. The sudden move left the Animagus-lizard wide open. Without breaking a sweat Harry's wand whirled to the right and a ray of incredible hot fire shot towards the lizard's maw, filling it with burning flames. Another flick and a small buckler-like shield deflected the other Death Eater's next spell before Harry continued his onslaught. The ward protecting Avery shattered.

_Too early_, Avery whined. _It's too early_.

He punched through the last flickering remains of the wards protecting the Horcrux, wards that weren't meant to be taken down by anybody else than Dolohov himself. His hand reached his booty and closed around the ring. Avery pulled back, knowing that his actions would trigger the trap. He staggered back, feeling the fire rushing towards him. The other hand pulled the coin from a little pocket. "Securi…"

Harry was no seer and didn't have to be one to recognize what Avery was doing. He couldn't allow him to escape with the ring, not after everything they had gone through. _Ring or portkey?_ He wondered for a moment. Then he went for the portkey. Perhaps Daphne's aim would have been truer. Perhaps she would have been able to hit the coin and the coin only. Harry however was fast. His spell hit before Avery finished the single word, slicing off two of his fingers and sending the coin tumbling down to the ground. Avery screamed in pain, the scream turning to terror as the Fiendfyre left its confines and raced towards him. In a senseless gesture he pushed the ring towards the fire, like it could stop the flames somehow. It could not. The flames turned into a towering flaming snake, engulfing man and ring, its coils widening and threatening to endanger the other occupants of the room as well.

Harry felt coils of near-solid air wrap around him and pull him back towards Daphne. He allowed it to happen and trusted Daphne to stop his involuntary flight. Meanwhile, he concentrated on the far bigger danger materializing in that fiery doom. Avery's scream intensified tenfold as the flames engulfed his body and made him burst into something akin to a fire log. For a while the ring kept cool, being the sole object in this hellish fire that seemed unaffected by the heat. The enlarging coils hit the human Death Eaters, burning him to crisps in seconds. The lizard one followed only moments later before Harry stopped the fire from spreading even more. For a while he was able to push the fire back. It formed a solid case of flames around Avery's blackened remains and the ring, and only now did the Horcrux' vessel start to melt.

A pitch-black cloud left the ring and mingled with the devilish flames, building something even more dangerous, if that was even possible. It pushed against Harry's control, tried to break it, hungry to turn on the teenagers.

Harry looked around. He needed a way to get rid of it. He needed an outlet.

.

Ethan was stumbling through the corridors. The pain was distracting. He cursed that damned owl. If he ever got the chance, he would take his revenge on her. For now he had to escape. Perhaps he could have some fun tonight. He found a picturesque little village not far from Prague. Little cottages, nice well-cared for gardens and smiling, happy families – he would burn them to hell.

There he was. He rounded the last corner and came to the door opening to the vault's centre. Hopefully Avery was still there. _I need your portkey, little man_.

He tore the door open. It was the second to last thing he ever saw in his life. The last one being flames.

.

Someone was opening the door. Harry's mind reached out. It weren't Hermione, Neville or Ana. This left only enemies possible – hopefully. The fire pushed and wrestled for control. Even he was barely able to keep it away, the black-yellow fire rumbling and roaring. He let go a tiny bit, allowing one side of his confining walls to crumble. The fire instantly used the chance and broke free. Like a stream of pressured water it raced towards the door. For a split-second Harry noticed an unknown man over there. He seemed hurt and more than a bit surprised.

_I would be as well_. Harry grimaced as the flames raced through the door and filled the corridor beyond. The foreigner had not a sliver of a chance to escape the fiery death. Dozens of victims were watching his deserved end happily, waiting for him to come to the other side to extract their revenge. The fire however clashed with the shell's magic, its fire battling with the confusion wards the red-cloaks had erected months ago. A wail of pain permeated the air and stopped battles everywhere.

"{We must flee}." Harry sent his emergency call to his friends and Ana. He felt them answer, their mindlink strengthening again as the shell lost its might. There was some kind of magical explosion incoming, Harry felt it. "{Go-go-go!}"

.

Ana obeyed immediately. "RETIRADA!" She bellowed. _Retreat!_

Instantly, Ruiz was at her side, brandishing his sword. Passing the hooligans in a hurry, the tip of his sword going left and right. A thrust through a neck, a cut in the face of another causing blood to blind the opponent – within second they passed the group, the fight forgotten. Hedwig gave the sign to the other half of Ana's team and they hurried to follow, dragging the confused Auror with them, Javier hastily casting a splint spell on his leg, while Balou took the lead, his nose superiorly adapted at finding the exit in a hurry. They left behind a group of leaderless hooligans, more than half of them dead or injured, the rest indecisive as to what just happened and what to do now. They didn't have to wait for too long to have that decision snatched away from them.

.

Neville grabbed Mandragora, while reaching out with his mind. His left hand closed around the weird piece of stonebark he had gotten from Ildiko. He hoped that he was right in his trust.

Hermione hugged Crooks close, as she did the same. She sent her magic towards Neville, knowing that he had to make the jump, apparition being far too dangerous now and here.

Daphne took the job her mother usually got and coordinated the magic of the four friends, doing the complicated math on how to balance the four positions and different magic levels.

Harry's job however was to shield them, keeping the fire away, a fire that was now possessed by sliver of Voldemort's soul and a mad sliver to add.

The fire screamed. It felt that it was dying. It sensed that this teenager was at fault. It gathered its last strength and shouldered through the confines that lousy teenager had erected.

Harry and Daphne saw the fire rushing towards them, as Neville's earth portal kicked in. And as the four teenagers left the place, Ana's team hurrying through the exit with the last surviving Death Eaters and hooligans following far too late, Dolohov's lair went down in a hell of flames.

The soul sliver died.

The fire perished.

The Horcrux Ring was gone.

.

_**A/N**_

_This got longer than expected, around 11,800 words._

_I know, I know: too much familiars and not enough Harry. I liked it nonetheless and I hope you did as well._

_The raven mystery will be solved next chapter._


	26. Chapter 26 Too good to be true

**Too good to be true**

.

_**Prague – Mazur Manor – 19**__**th**__** of September very early morning**_

.

Neville folded the letter very carefully and put it in an envelope addressed to "Emma Granger". He had a soft smile and a thoughtful look on his face thinking about the events of the previous day. They had been shocked by the sudden and very fiery end of the whole endeavour, but all of them were alive and more or less healthy. After a short check by the paramedic of Ana's team, Daphne's aunt sent them away to safety while she stayed behind to handle the Czech authorities. They wouldn't be happy, especially about the necessary mass commitment of their Obliviator teams. Presumably there would be a cover story about some old WWII bomb exploding or something similar. After all some half-believable story explaining a couple acres of land erupting into fire would be required. Neville hoped that they would find a solution so that they wouldn't be banned from entering the Czech Republic in the future. He liked the city and Hermione even more so. He would love to spend some quality time with Hermione in the golden city again.

Hermione – she would turn 17 today. 17 – The thought was nearly unbelievable, her being of age and all. Legally allowed to… Neville pondered what would actually change for her. The four teenagers had all kind of dispenses already. With no magical inheritance waiting for her, like it was the case with Harry, or the date meaning something in regards of the Wizengamot, as it would be with Daphne and Neville, her 17th birthday was only another little milestone in Hermione's life. Her next birthday would be more important, becoming of age in the Muggle world as well.

Still, he wanted to celebrate the day. Especially, he wanted to celebrate it with her family. He had already convinced Harry to immediately return to Great Britain this morning. And the letter? It was his announcement of their return. Emma would be happy about it. She hadn't expected to see her daughter for a couple more weeks.

"Please deliver this to Emma Granger," Neville said to the eagerly waiting Dobby "but wait for her to be awake and all," he added after a moment, as he had the image of an overexcited Dobby in his mind, jumping up and down on Emma's bed with the letter in his small hand. Emma wouldn't appreciate it. "The second letter is for Dan … and don't tell Hermione about it. It's a surprise."

Dobby nodded eagerly, his long ears flapping, and vanished into thin air.

Content that this was being taken care of, Neville put on his dressing gown and left his room. He had a birthday breakfast to prepare.

.

"Here is your portkey," Ana put the little cylinder into Harry's hand. "It will transport you to a safe room in the DMLE. Amelia is expecting you at 10 o'clock."

"Thank you, we'll be ready."

The quartet had been a sharing a nice birthday breakfast with Hermione, trying not to think too much about the fights of the previous day. Their four familiars had been part of the little party, with Crooks and Balou enjoying the attention while Hedwig and Mandragora watched the ruckus from above. Without them the adventure wouldn't have gone as smoothly and everybody knew it. Hermione, even more so than the others, was very thankful towards Crooks. Without him defending her, she would have died the night before, or at least been bitten. And while she didn't have the usual prejudices regarding Werewolves, she wasn't eager spending the rest of her hopefully very long life as one. Because of this, the little orange monster found his belly filled with all kinds of treats and always a caressing hand in his thick fur nearby.

"Everything alright with the Czech officials?"

Ana sighed deeply. "It needed some lengthy explanations and a Midnight call to Amelia and Minister Fudge, but in the end they believed that we aren't some British Madmen only in Prague to terrorize the locals."

Harry bit his lip to suppress a smile. He imagined the faces of Minister Fudge when he got the midnight call. He certainly hadn't been amused.

"Now everything is fine so far. I'll stay in Prague for a couple more days to help the Czech Aurors with the covering up and the search of the fugitives, if there had been any."

"Do you think anybody survived?" Daphne asked. She had been shocked about the end of the battle and the fact that presumably most of the lair's inhabitants died in the hellish fire. It had been their decision to become Death Eaters and follow that madman. It had been Dolohov's decision to prepare such a last defence: still, they had been humans and nobody deserved to die in such a manner. Being burned alive was a horrible fate.

"Not many," Ana sadly shook her head. "We only escaped unscathed thanks to Balou and Hedwig." She said, looking thankfully in the familiars' direction. "Our opponents hesitated on their next action as we left and I saw no living Death Eaters on our way out. Perhaps a few who stayed at the fringes survived but none of those who were deeper into the lair should have. Even apparition wasn't a real possibility – not without a serious risk of splinching. No, I don't expect many survivors."

"We have to end this," Harry declared. "And soon. We have to find Dolohov. Without him the others will stop fighting. There aren't many inner circle members left, but Dolohov is the most important."

"Aurors are looking for him all over Europe," Ana promised, "I'm certain that we'll find him soon enough."

Only hours later, Ana would learn how wrong she had been.

.

_**Somewhere in the Far East**_

.

His followers were close. He could feel them, especially Dolohov. The talented member of the inner circle had been in the vicinity of his prison for weeks now. That a couple more of his men now arrived as well – he was only able to identify Travers among them, the others had to be unidentified rabble – was a good sign. There had been some "business contacts" to the Far East in the past, more in the 80s than today, but close enough certainly to get some help for Dolohov in locating his prison.

Regretfully, Bella hadn't accompanied Dolohov. He sensed her, sensed her mark and the return of her sanity, but she was far, far away, back in Britain. She would have hit the Muggles where it hurt, would have killed all the Magicals that guarded him. Yes, there were magicals; he identified them over the past weeks. There had been a number of them, "visiting" him from time to time, one of them even checking the magic that imprisoned him every few days. From the newspapers those damned tourists carried around he knew the date: 19th of September. 42 days until Halloween. He assumed that Dolohov intended to free him on that date. He would have chosen the unholy night himself.

He couldn't await it. He would be free again, free to extract his revenge. He would cover the land with fire and blood. The air in Diagon Alley would be filled with screams of terror and death. The velvet gloves would be off. He had been far too soft and friendly in the past. This had to stop now. The magical community didn't appreciate a caring emperor. They needed a harsh hand, a grip of steel and a cat o' nine tails ripping into their flesh. He got agitated now, thinking about how he would cause utter terror in good ol' England. With Madam Guille's help he would orchestrate a rising of the dead. Hogsmeade cemetery would provide him with hundreds of Inferi, ready to charge the gates of Hogwarts. Screams of pain would fill the country when mothers learned about the grizzly deaths of their children.

And the Werewolves? He had trusted Fenrir to control them in the past. He had been wrong about that too. Too many had betrayed him. Too many had switched sides and now fought him. He would order Fenrir to turn as many new Werewolves as possible. Runes of obedience cuts into their fur would make them loyal. Christmas night was a full moon this year. He would send them out to spoil the celebrations. Holy night indeed.

Yes, he would be free again.

He would take back what was rightfully his.

And he would question Dolohov about why he allowed his ring to be destroyed.

.

_**Prague – same time**_

.

"Stay still!"

Despite him being her boss, Nikolai Bramasov immediately obeyed. It wasn't wise to cross Elsbeta Darpa when she was in that mood: her eyes narrowed, a steely glint in her eyes and her long slender hands not very gently rubbing burn ointment into his skin.

"Stupid man," the woman growled, not caring if he heard her. Nikolai rolled his eyes but had to admit that she was right. It had been his own stupidity that put him into danger last night and caused those painful burns. "You could have died," she scolded him. He didn't deny it. While he was a very sturdy Vampire, thanks to his age and a couple of rituals he was immune to things that would destroy others of his kind, there were still weapons out there able to beat him. That hellish, soul-possessed fire certainly belonged to the short list of things he wasn't able to survive. _Luckily it is quite rare_, he suppressed a chuckle. Equally luckily he had been able to flee just in time. He had even dragged that lovely snow-white owl with him – Hedwig. She was an unusual bird, closely connected to that green-eyed boy. He felt the magical and emotional connection. It would allow the bird to live far longer than usual – if she stayed out of danger.

"I should send the boy some reading material about protection runes for the owl," he mused loudly, prompting Elsbeta to curse. "First you should think about finding some protection runes for your recklessness."

"It was necessary." Nikolai grumbled.

"I know," Elsbeta admitted slightly defeated. She had been in his service since 1926 and intended to stay for another couple of decades at least. While he was in theory her boss, Nikolai mostly left her alone to her studies and researching. He offered her a lab, an incredible library, enough funds for everything she needed and contacts around the world she could only dream of. It didn't hurt that he was an intelligent and well-educated conversation partner and didn't hit on her like her last Sire had tried to do – may his ashes rest in peace. Nikolai Bramasov was hetero and certainly appreciated the female body, but he was deeply in love – in love with someone he could never have but was still incredible faithful too. Among her possible choices he was certainly the best, but sometimes he was so aggravating.

"I expected them to betray the boy and they really did," Nikolai sighed. "I hoped I would be wrong but Tadeusz has always been too clever for his own good."

"He has been gathering allies to take over the hospital for weeks."

"I know," Nikolai frowned. "Idiot that he is."

"You'll have to take care of him." Elsbeta suddenly narrowed her eyes as she had an epiphany. "You knew this. You expected him to break his word."

Nikolai looked a tad guilty but didn't deny it. "I couldn't pass the opportunity."

"And now?"

"Now I'll meet his superiors and express my deep hurt about getting betrayed by him, how I hope that they won't allow his ambition to drive a wedge between them and me. And offer a solution."

"A solution that encompasses the bloody death of a certain parvenu?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.

"You know me too well."

.

_**London – Arabic Community Centre – a wee bit later**_

.

Hermione hadn't stopped grinning madly since they arrived at the community centre an hour ago. Neville found her absolutely adorable and cute, sitting in the middle of a group of Arabic children, telling stories about her Sudan voyage. Her father was there as well, and they would meet Emma Granger a bit later.

Their visit to the DMLE had been cut short as Harry arranged with Amelia a longer and detailed session for the next morning. For now she was content to know that

Everybody important was alright and healthy

Quite a number of Death Eaters including Avery had been put to the sword, or to the fire

And the Horcrux had been destroyed for good.

Anything else could wait for another day. Jessica Treskow would be there as well, Neville knew, eager to hear about the Werewolves that had been part of the defending force.

After the DMLE, Neville and Harry had ushered the girls towards Muggle London and Hermione's eyes had started to shine as she realized where they were going. He had really enjoyed her appreciative snogging. The thankful look of her father hadn't been bad as well. Right after getting Neville's message, Dan Granger had started to prepare a little birthday party with his colleagues. The children, after hearing about the reason for the candles and cakes, had been more than eager to help as well. They had swarmed Hermione, barely allowing her to greet her father.

The only surprise had been the presence of the local Imam. He arrived with a couple of students and local dignitaries, all clad in their finest… robes, or however they called that kind of garment. He had greeted Hermione and her friends in a dignified but friendly way, and even offered a gift of his own. It was a wonderfully coloured piece of silk with some Arabic letters on it, one of the surah, Neville assumed. He had to ask her later. That Hermione had been able to respond in his own language had certainly gained her some brownie points. Now, she was sitting on a comfortable cushion, retelling a fable she heard in Sudan and doing a believable impression of a lioness clawing at an enemy. The children screamed with joy.

"She's a very special woman."

Neville startled and whirled around only to find the Imam watching Hermione closely. A few steps away Harry and Daphne were in some agitated discussion with a couple of his students. "Yes, she is," Neville agreed after a moment.

"You're her …"

"Her fiancé," Neville nodded. "We intend to marry after finishing school in two years."

"That's good to hear," the Imam stated calmly. "Honourable women – they should be cherished, protected and loved. It is the right thing to do."

"I agree." Neville felt slightly uncomfortable around the man. He had no experience with Muslims so far and especially hadn't the foggiest idea why the Imam was interested in the Granger family. He seemed to sense that.

"In the beginning some families didn't feel comfortable with a Christian physician caring for their children, for their teenaged daughters especially. We are very traditional about that kind of thing."

"What changed?" Neville asked. He had wondered about it since hearing about the Imam's intervention months ago.

"A friend of mine, the Imam of Khartoum – wrote me." The Imam explained. Neville's eyes widened slightly. How the hell…?

"Apparently Doctor Granger made quite an impression while living there. He's rajul alshsharaf – an honourable man."

"He is," Neville happily agreed. "The whole family is. I'm proud of soon becoming a member of their family."

.

_**Somewhere in the Far East**_

.

"Take care of your brother."

His aunt's surprising statement startled Tam Zejie and prompted him to look up from his beloved computer. "Why do you say that, Aunt Hui? Did something happen?"

"It will." His aunt had a faraway look on her face but enough conviction in her voice to give him pause. Tam Zejie and his older brother Tam Zeli belonged to the magical strong arm of the twelve white cranes triads. Zeli was the far more accomplished fighter and leader, while Zejie had a natural knack for modern technique. He had to be careful around computers as every other wizard, but had learned to have a tight control on his magic all the time. Because of this he often appeared to be cold and unfeeling, but it was only an outer sign of his training at Occlumency and meditation. Zeli was the emotional and charismatic one. Their warriors adored and trusted him, believing that he couldn't be beaten in a fight. His victory over a clan of Sea Water Trolls three years ago only cemented that belief.

"Something will happen today and he will be in danger."

For a moment Zejie wondered if he should simply ignore her. Aunt Hui was… queer, to put it nicely. As old as the hills and according to his grandfather not very reasonable from the start, she had a reputation for saying and doing the most whimsical things. However, there had to be more about her, otherwise the triad leaders wouldn't have followed her pledge to protect that weird terracotta statue. Lovegood – that had been the name of that English family. Aunt Hui apparently had been friends with one member of that family, a woman that had been visiting their home country back in the 1930s. Her friend had died long ago, as far as he knew, but she was still in contact with her family. He even met some of them a couple of years ago. A woman with dreamy eyes – Selena Lovegood or something – had been around with her little daughter. Both had caused him the creeps but his aunt had loved them.

"I will take care of him." Zejie promised her, earning him a pat on the cheek and a thankful smile.

_Respect your Elders._

.

"What is happening?"

Tam Zejie made a calming gesture but his older brother did not have the patience to wait for him to gather information about the incident in the Southern Wing of the area. Tam Zeli was pacing up and down the room, barely able to keep his hands from tussling his hair. It was actually a cute gesture that originated from his early childhood. A few minutes ago, both brothers had been alarmed by the noises of some explosions and heavy smoke above the mentioned part of the protected area. Utter chaos broke out immediately after and the tourists had started to leave the exhibition rooms in a hurry.

Zejie looked up from his screens with a deep frown. "Apparently there was a gas explosion. Several visitors have been injured, some of them may be dead. The emergency teams are on site already and the police and security officers are clearing the whole place." Aunt Hui's words came back to his mind. _Something will happen today_. Had she been speaking about this?

"Show me." Zeli ordered and his younger brother complied. Only a handful of cameras were still in working order around the targeted area. They showed utter chaos and mayhem. Dozens of glass vitrines had been destroyed, paramedics were still at work and Zejie got slightly ill as he noticed three bodies covered with blankets.

Zeli narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "This wasn't an accident." He pointed towards the part of the room where the explosions and fire had apparently started. "Someone used magic to destroy the gas pipe." Zejie thought about it and nodded. "The people in the area would have noticed the smell in case of a leak. And that pipe looks like it was torn apart by giant hands."

"That's what I thought." While Zeli and his younger brother were vastly different in attitude and preferences, he respected his intellect and was very protective of him.

"Do you think it's a distraction?" Both knew what he was speaking about. This accident could simply be an attempt to clear the exhibition area of tourists, allowing "someone" to get near the protected room.

"I'll take a look. Stay here." Zeli ordered, stopping shortly as Zejie whispered: "be careful."

Zeli nodded. He was a warrior. That didn't mean he would rush into danger head first.

.

With a sneer on his face John Travers stepped around the corpse of the security guard he had just killed. It was the same sneer he had for the Indian curse-breaker belonging to his team. It was regretful that he had to endure the man. At least he seemed to know what he was doing. His comrade had been successful in distracting the bulk of the defending forces and – more importantly – to get those tourists out of the way that were already around the place at this hour. He would have preferred a nightly extraction, but Dolohov hadn't been able to stay patient. Something had happened last night, something that prompted him to run around like a scared chicken.

"Sir, you have to leave…" Another security guard, apparently on his way to look for any remaining tourists, was unable to finish the sentence before two of Travers' overeager henchmen cut him down. Gesturing them to get rid of the corpses not to alarm any passers-by, Travers hurried towards the destination of their little trip. Dolohov wasn't far behind with another team, accompanying the extractors whose duty it would be to get the statue away before stronger defence teams arrived. From their scout they knew that only a dozen guards should be around here, with no more than three or four wizards among them. No real danger for their forces, but they had to act fast.

Suddenly there were some silly noises in the air, as if someone trying to suppress a cough. One of his men stumbled and went down to his knees. He had a surprised look on his face and was clutching his chest from where blood was dripping. With a small gurgle he slumped to the ground face-first.

"Ambush!" Travers was experienced enough to realize the effect of Muggle weapons. More coughing filled the air and within seconds half of his team was cut down, most of them hit by weapon fire but also the spells of at least one wizard. He was able to detect five assailants, partially hidden by the exhibits. Without caring for their value, Travers blasted a pedestal apart with a couple of 900 years old alabaster vases from the Song dynasty on it. He destroyed them completely and utterly, but equally killed one of the gunslingers hiding there.

Without regret Travers pushed one of his henchmen in front of the Indian curse-breaker to protect him. While he didn't like the man, he would need him in a few minutes. At least the rest of his men were hiding now as well and returning the fire. A Chinese wizard was already injured and a second gunslinger wasn't moving anymore. Travers shot a Reducto at his head, only to make certain he wouldn't stand up later.

To his right one of his men screamed. Travers whirled around only to see some formerly hidden Chinese cutting one man down before he attacked another one. He used his wand left-handedly, protecting himself with small shield-casts while advancing towards the trembling man with a gleam in his eyes and a deadly sword in his right hand. Travers sent a cutting curse his way but the Chinese sensed the attack in time and dodged it. He dodged the next two spells as well, before he reached his target and beheaded the man.

For a second fear gripped Travers' heart as the terrifying swordsman turned around and sent him a withering glare. Somehow he knew that he wouldn't be able to stop him. Luckily however – luckily for Travers at least – he was rescued by Dolohov's timely arrival.

_You'll pay now_, Travers thought, _pay for attacking my men. Pay for daring to threaten me_. He raised his wand.

.

"Shit, shit, shit."

Zejie deactivated the last of the cameras watching the area and stormed away from the control room. He had spent the last couple of minutes disarming the surveillance system and deleting any proof that magic existed. It had only been possible because they had prepared for just this case: some magical commando storming the area with no regards of the statute of secrecy – or no idea what a camera system actually meant, as he assumed in this case.

Those foreign wizards had started to hurl their spells around, right in sight of a dozen cameras. The press would have a field day getting their paws on that kind of electronic proof. And his superior would have his head for this. Rushing through the corridors, Zejie could only hope that he would arrive fast enough. The opposing forces were overwhelming, but knowing his brother he realized that Zeli wouldn't shy away from the fight. There was only one way to convince him to leave: his little brother being endangered.

Because of this a few minutes later, Zeli watched his brother rush right onto the battlefield, taking out two of those Indian mercenaries and exchanging spells with the newly arrived enemy leader. Zeli had been forced to slowly withdraw room by room and was now defending the hall he had sworn to protect. The statue his enemies obviously intended to steal was already in sight. There were a couple of wards around, but of the more harmless kind, as they didn't want to accidently kill some child playing and fooling around. That certainly wouldn't stop them.

Zejie jumped aside just in time to avoid the green light of an Avada. Their foes were in a hurry, trying to get away with their spoil before enforcements arrived. There weren't many of his men left. One was heavily leaning against another statue, while covering two of his comrades with short bursts from his silenced SMG. To the left a fourth was battling a pair of mercenaries while the man to his feet barely moved anymore. They were losing, it was clear. All Zeli could do was buy time for other Crane teams to arrive. He didn't know how far away they were. Certainly nobody had expected an extraction attempt in such force, so openly and brutal. Apart from the victims of the gas explosion, there had been at least a dozen more casualties, with the attackers losing an equal amount of fighters. Victory would cost them, but the victory would be theirs, Zeli had no doubt about it.

Zejie dodged a bone-breaker from the leader of the opposing advance team. This time he had reacted too late and from the look of it his left leg had been hit. Zejie was now rolling on the floor to dodge another volley of spells, while sending back a number of his own curses. He would not last for long, Zeli realized.

It was time for a choice.

.

"I promised Aunt Hui to take care of you."

Zejie's simple statement baffled Zeli and stopped his rant. He had been able to rescue his brother. Two of his men successfully fled the fight as well. The rest had died in that hall. He would mourn them later.

"You shouldn't have been there in the first place," Zeli growled. He was furious, both about his little brother risking his life as because he was denied an honourable death in the line of duty.

"Without me there," Zejie calmly replied, suppressing the pain of his broken leg, "you never would have left."

"I should have died there, defending the statue, as was my duty."

"It would have changed nothing," Zejie shook his head. He was right and Zeli knew it. Just when the intruders started to dismantle the wards, a first reinforcement team of the white cranes arrived on the scene. They had to pull back, after four of them being killed by the enemy leaders supported by the deadly Indian assassin. Only when more teams followed, had they been able to finish off the intruders – but not before four of them escaped with their booty.

The statue was gone. And he survived thanks to his brother. Both would have to explain to his own superiors.

Perhaps death would really have been preferable after all.

.

_**Scotland – Hogwarts - A wee bit later**_

.

"You're crazy, you know that?" Hermione gasped after a first look into the Great Hall.

"Only crazy for you," Neville replied quite sappily. Heroically, Harry didn't roll his eyes, if only because he feared Daphne's reaction. "Do you like it?"

"I do," Hermione sighed happily, before whirling like a living dervish through the Hall and tackling her mother.

Some of the guests started to sing some birthday song, only they seemed unable to agree on the same song. It was quite the ruckus, quite appropriate to the location.

Fred and George hadn't needed much convincing to prepare some indoor firework for their favourite bookworm and prank potion inventor. There were coloured lights everywhere, a fire cascade that reacted to the music playing and somehow the Twins even got a couple of 3D-Kneazles that were running and fooling around at the ceiling. The guests were certainly impressed. If there was a logo visible here and there, it was certainly forgivable.

The second afternoon lesson had been cancelled by Headmaster Flitwick to allow everyone to join the party. Admittedly, many of them were only present because of the firework and the buffet, but it was still a happy affair. Neville had been able to rope Niles Chentz and a couple other Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors into doing the choirs tonight, while more than a dozen house-elves belonged to the guests. Naturally Dobby and Winky were there, as well as Ciddy and Paddoc, the later competing with Professor Snape about who showed the sourest look.

They weren't the only house-elves present, however. Matron Mathilda was there as well, with her oldest son, her bodyguards and a few other house-elves. Admittedly, Harry had assumed until now that Hermione had been exaggerating with her thoughts about Mathilda dying. He had been wrong, he realized now, deadly wrong. While Mathilda had been old but spryly as he met her six weeks ago, she now seemed really old, fragile and as if she ought to be bed-ridden. He watched Neville accompany Hermione towards the elderly matron, Hermione's eyes shining suspiciously. She bowed down and hugged Matron Mathilda, whispered her thanks for coming to her birthday party. Matron Mathilda patted her hand. "Don't be sad, dear."

"I try," Hermione promised, adding after a moment. "A woman I met in Prague told me 'it's a great gift to decide ourselves about the day of our departure'. Perhaps she was right."

"She was," Mathilda smiled, looking quite relaxed and content, even happy. She pushed two nicely wrapped gifts into Hermione's hands. "One is for you. The other one I trust you to give Daphne on her next birthday."

Hermione nodded, not trusting her voice right now. Mathilda really didn't expect to be around anymore next August. Carefully she opened her gift. It was a kind of dress, the fashion very simple but adorned with lovely embroideries, showing scenes of the life of house-elves. "It's for your first daughter, actually," Mathilda explained, causing Hermione to blush and Neville to grin dreamily. "Our children get such a dress on their ninth birthday – the first day we assume them to be old enough to get a real working duty on their own."

"Thank you, Mathilda."

.

"She seems happy," Petunia mentioned to Harry and he could only agree. The surprise birthday party had been a fabulous idea, just the thing Hermione needed today, and Neville as well. All four of them needed it, actually. The fight had been draining, emotionally even more than magically. He still heard the fire hiss and the soul splinter screech. It would accompany him for a while, he feared. But right now, it was forgotten.

Hermione had been swarmed by her friends, both teenager and adult. There had equally been scowling and snickering as Sirius offered Hermione her first own bottle of 30-year-old firewhiskey. There had been a couple of books, some quite rare potion ingredients from Professor Snape – the sourly potion master had looked like it hurt to be nice to her – and an album with rare photos from Dennis Creevey. Hermione had looked seriously thankful for the drawing of some so far unknown species she got from Luna, complete with a wooden frame, quite nicely carved by Millie. There had been some deep blushing and furious hiding of a present she got from Lavender and the Patil sisters. Neville had only been able to see some red lace coming out of the box.

Far less emotional had been the business like present she got from Tremors in the name of his grandmother. It was a 10% business share of a niche competitor to "Flourish and Blotts". Hermione still loved it and Harry expected her to turn it into something serious in no time. It would certainly be helpful when Daphne and Hermione finished their house-elf book. The Centaurs had sent their greetings but hadn't entered the hall. The stony corridors weren't really meant for them.

Now she was enjoying her time with a couple of friends. It was a slightly weird but very welcome sight to realize that her friends belonged to all four houses. Tracey Davis and Millicent Bulstrode were there together with Padma Patil, Susan Bones and Ginny Weasley. It was a real union of all houses, welded together not by politeness but friendship.

Harry really hoped that this was a lasting sign for their future.

.

"How is your mother?" Neville's question startled Ginny. Most of her friends avoided the matter, uncertain how she felt about it. Neville however was brave enough to ask and caring enough to know that Molly still mattered to Ginny despite everything that happened.

"She is awake again," Ginny responded with a soft voice. "She's still sleepy most of the time, and sometimes her mind is foggy, unable to recognize us. But it's getting better. Nel is convinced that she will fully recover. It will only need some time."

"That's good to hear."

Ginny nodded weakly. "Yeah. You know – I thought I hated her, after everything. But…"

"It's hard."

Ginny nodded again, this time with a weak smile. "Yeah."

"And you?"

"Me?"

"Have you been examined? Nel said something about genetics," Neville asked, slightly concerned that she hadn't been examined as promised.

"Oh that." Her smile broadened. "Everything is alright. Actually I have to thank Daphne and the twins for that."

"Huh?"

"Apparently the chance to inherit the disease is far greater among girls – 40% instead of only 15%. None of my brethren inherited it. They have to make certain to have their children examined, but they are save."

"And what Daphne and the twins did two years ago…" Neville started, thinking about how the three called Ginny back from beyond the grave.

Ginny nodded, now in a far better mood. "It somehow conquered the disease in my brain. Nel thinks it was the overwhelming infusion of foreign magic. She wants to examine it next summer. Perhaps it could be used as a treatment in an earlier stage of the disease. Anyway: I'm not ill anymore."

"That's splendid."

"It is," Ginny grinned happily. "Isn't it?"

.

"Crooks!"

Hermione's screech startled her friends. She stared down, slightly fuming, at her Kneazle. Crooks had been calm so far, mostly keeping his distance not to be in the way of her swarming friends. Now however he had left his peaceful place and shown Hermione that he wanted her attention. His extended claws into her calf made certain that she understood the message.

Without heeding her annoyance he trotted away, looking back after a few steps like telling her to follow him. Hermione rolled her eyes but still did as told. She was halfway through the Great Hall as she realized his destination.

"Jerome!" She screamed happily, rushing towards the French. She came to a sudden stop as she noticed he wasn't alone. Three little children were there as well, slightly nervous because of the foreign location and the many people. Hermione happily bent down to greet them. "Hello Marwa, hi Nawal, Racim."

Marwa jumped into her arms and hugged her, while the boys stayed back and greeted her in a more manly way. Their stance told Hermione that they were a bit terrified by the masses around them but still eager to defend their little sister if needed. "I'm so happy to have you here." She had really missed them, especially the little Marwa, since she left Sudan. Marwa looked completely healthy again. Meryem's medicine had worked a little miracle.

"Meryem was unable to accompany us," Jerome explained the absence of his wife. "She really doesn't like the European countries, not since her experiences during the French revolution." Hermione nodded weakly, still feeling a little overwhelmed by the imagination of Meryem's past. "But she sends her greetings – and her gift." He pointed towards the children. "She assumed you would like to see them and they were quite happy to comply."

"I'm happy you did," Hermione sighed, putting her arms around the children. "I'm happy you did."

.

The mood had been too good to last forever.

Jerome had left with the children, as did most of the students. Only a dozen hard-core friends remained behind with a handful of teachers and a few family members. The music was soft, the mood relaxed, and the faces friendly.

Everything changed as Amelia Bones stormed into the Great Hall. She walked straight towards Harry, her gaze wandering around to make certain that nobody listened who was untrustworthy to hear the news. For a short moment she looked towards Hermione. "I'm sorry to spoil your party, Hermione, I really am. But this is something you need to know as soon as possible."

Hermione nodded weakly. This had to be really bad. Had something happened in Africa?

Amelia drew a deep breath. "We got news from China." Harry a few others gasped, while others only looked quite confused. No more than a dozen persons had known about Voldemort's fate, and even among them not even a handful had known the exact location where he was hidden.

"Antonin Dolohov was somehow able to learn about his master's fate. He has been able to locate him. There has been an attack. Dolohov, Travers, and as far as we know more than twenty Death Eaters and mercenaries raided the place. Despite heavy resistance on side of our Chinese allies they were able to steal the statue containing his soul."

She allowed Harry and his friends to digest the news, while addressing Luna: "Miss Lovegood, my contact bade me to inform you that the Tam brethren, whoever they are – both survived the attack."

"Thank you," Luna had been looking quite concerned, clenching Millie's hand in the process. Now she relaxed again.

"We'll deal with the details tomorrow, as we're still gathering information," Amelia said in Harry's direction again. "But this one thing is undisputed: Tom Riddle is in the enemy's hands again.

.

_**A/N**_

_Voldemort free again._

_This chapter was a bit shorter than usual because of the Easter days. Next time we'll slowly advance towards the climax of the African struggle._

_Yes, there is only 1 Horcrux left (the wand in Africa), but remember: Madam Guille made provisions for his safety in case of her losing the battle._


	27. Chapter 27 How to arouse a storm

**How to arouse a storm**

.

_**Somewhere in the Far East – 20**__**th**__** of September**_

.

He was free again. Tom Riddle cheered – silently for now, because he was still trapped in this statue of an Imperial Chinese soldier, but still he was cheering. At least he was free of those blasted Muggles, of that hated place he had been forced to stay in for months. He was back among his own men; men who would die for him and more important who would kill for him.

They had done both in spades yesterday. Dolohov had been clever to hire those worthless Indian scum to take the brunt of the defenders' ire. None had survived the battle, but they weren't needed anymore. Soon enough he would be home again, free to extract his revenge on everybody.

"I sent message to Madam Guille, milord."

Tom concentrated on the man in front of his stony host body. Antonin Dolohov and John Travers apparently were the only members of his Inner circle around right now. Both behaved humbly and extremely politely in his presence. _They know their survival depends on my good will after my return_, Tom realized, _as does their long-term success under my leadership. They're powerful and talented wizards, but they're no Dark Lord material. They're nothing without me, worms like the rest of them_.

"She'll send the wand and the body she prepared," Dolohov continued.

_Ah, yes, the wand_, Tom sighed. The last surviving Horcrux. For a moment waves of hate rolled around in his cold heart. The Potter brat had been able to destroy the others. He had been wise to create another one. Without it, without the ritual sacrifice of that traitor bitch Andromeda Black, he would be dead now – permanently destroyed, his soul gone in the wind of oblivion.

"We have to prepare your return to Britain very carefully," Dolohov explained. "They closed the borders. We already planned something. You'll be back within the next two weeks. After that we'll prepare the ritual. Madam Guille plans to execute the ritual at its maximum potency – on Halloween."

That made sense. He hated the fact that he had to wait for another six weeks, but in the end it would be worth it. He would be far stronger that way. And he had to be strong. The ritual would destroy the wand. The last Horcrux would be gone, leaving him mortal for the first time in decades. Until he recovered enough to create new ones, he had to be able to protect himself. A strange feeling crossed his heart and mind. Tom was unwilling to admit it, but this new feeling, this weird feeling… was fear.

"And now I wanted to tell you something positive that happened while you were… away." Dolohov's smile was a bit strained. He hoped his news would better his Dark Lord's mood somewhat. And so he started to speak about a trial, about revenge and hate, about a traitor and a duel.

He spoke about the bloody end of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

And the Dark Lord smiled.

.

_**London – Office of Amelia Bones – 20**__**th**__** of September**_

.

The mood of the assembly was nothing like the day before at the party. Everybody was serious, concerned and angry about the events. For weeks and months all had gone well so far, perhaps too well even. They had been able to purge Harry of his Horcrux, they had found the diadem and even been able to cleanse it without destroying the priceless artefact, and with much luck and no less amount of audacity, they had been able to destroy the ring as well.

With only the wand left, their job had nearly been done. With their forces in Africa already in position, they could nearly taste victory. In a few days it would have been possible to destroy the terracotta statue, finishing the threat Tom Riddle presented for good. All of it had changed within a single day.

"Yesterday," Amelia Bones explained "a combined force of British Death Eaters and Indian Mercenaries under the leadership of Antonin Dolohov and John Travers attacked the place where Tom Riddle was hidden. They enforced an evacuation of the place by causing a gas explosion, instantly killing three tourists and injuring more than twenty others, two of them succumbed to their injuries since then; four others only survived because our allies assisted the medical teams with healing spells. While the security teams were occupied with the repercussions of the explosion, Dolohov attacked in force, ignoring any casualties among his henchmen. Our allies, despite being highly outnumbered, were able to keep them back for some time but suffered heavy losses. Seven of our allies were killed as were nine Indian mercenaries and six Death Eaters."

Most attendants paled. The blood count was disturbing. Daphne gave Harry's hand a squeeze while Hermione and Neville thought about Luna. The blond Claw had left for China this morning after a short explanation to Headmaster Flitwick. She felt guilty about the losses, because it had been her friendship that convinced the Tam clan to assist the British DMLE. Millie had instantly offered to accompany her and Luna had accepted. Perhaps the experience would bring the pair even closer.

"The attacking team was beaten in the end, but four of their members were able to flee, Dolohov and Travers among them. They took the statue containing the main soul sliver of Tom Riddle with them."

"Do we know something about their current location?"

"No," Amelia shook her head. "We know that they left China within an hour but not where they went. We expect them to attempt a return to British soil within the next weeks."

"Why not awaken him somewhere else and return when their master is at full strength again?"

"Because of the magic used for his incarceration," Neville interjected "freeing him can only succeed while he is in an area no more than 300 miles away from where he was beaten. This leaves most of Great Britain and a couple of islands in the Northern Sea."

"Our job is clear," Amelia continued. "We have to protect our borders; however we have to make it in a way that seemingly gives Dolohov a chance to return, allowing us to catch him while he tries. In the meantime, we can only wait and hope that Kingsley's team in Africa is as successful as Harry's team has been in Prague."

.

"We want to help Kingsley."

Harry had waited for the gathering to end before he addressed the matter with Amelia. The boss of the DMLE rolled her eyes in mock surprise. "Whoever would have guessed?" She exchanged a tiny smile with Brychan Camwy and gave him a small nod. Her secretary pulled a rune-covered bronze wand from his robe and offered it to Harry. "Your departure will be at 2 PM. Kingsley is already expecting your arrival."

Harry smiled faintly. He should have expected Amelia and Brychan to anticipate his wish. As he moved to grab the wand, Brychan pulled it back. "You're there to assist only. Baron Pascal is the one in charge of the operation. You'll only help as much as he allows. And you'll take care of your team. Ana told me what happened in Prague. All of you are still recovering. Promise me you won't overtax yourself."

"I promise," Harry nodded. He would try to behave, but somehow he had the feeling that they wouldn't be successful with that part.

.

_**Somewhere in Prague – 20**__**th**__** of September evening**_

.

Nikolai Bramasov followed his guide through the endless corridors of the ancient building. It was a subterranean part of the first university of Prague, which survived the centuries more or less intact. Since the time of the "Defenestration of Prague" in 1618 this place had been used by all kind of factions as a neutral meeting ground. While Bramasov trusted his meeting partner not to try something funny, the same could not be said about Tadeusz. This place however was reasonable safe.

His guide, a young Vampire of barely five decades, opened a last door and stepped aside, allowing Bramasov to enter the chamber where three members of the inner circle were waiting. They had accepted his "invitation", knowing that to decline would seriously hurt their presence in the Golden City. He held no official title; he didn't even belong to the Ancillae, those elder Vampires that counselled the Czech Prince. However, he had connections among Vampires and Mages all over Europe and there was no doubt that he could single-handedly destroy any Vampire within 200 miles of the city – through the powers of his dreams alone, according to rumours. The story of how he killed his own Sire centuries ago was well-known. Somehow he had prompted him to freak out in the middle of a gathering, attacking the Prince of Prague with a torch, and forcing the royal guard to dispose of him. Bramasov's part in this had never been proven, but nobody doubted it for a minute.

As a show of respect, the three elders who had been waiting for Bramasov rose from their seats and reciprocated Bramasov's small bow. "Professor Bramasov," their spokesman gestured towards the fourth char. "Please have a seat."

"Elders," he accepted with a small nod. While these three elders rarely made appearances in public, he knew them all. None of them had been born after 1800 and their spokesman had already belonged to the gathering that solved the problems between the different factions of the Thirty Years War. None of them was a newbie, neither among Vampires nor among politicians. However, he could smell their fear. They feared his ire and rightly so. Nikolai Bramasov was a soft heart among Vampires – most of the times at least. He allowed others to exist as they pleased and was willing to help anybody, irrespective of race, colour or belief – or life cycle. However, he hated traitors and Tadeusz had been grating on his nerves for years already. The despicable hooligan had attempted several times to put his dirty paws on Bramasov's beloved hospital. It was his tiny empire and he had never allowed anybody to get a hold there. Tadeusz had been stupid to think he could win where other Vampires, far older and mightier than him, had lost in the past. Now he would pay the price.

"Three hundred years ago," he started with a low voice, forcing the three elders to listen closely "we met for the first time, your inner circle and I. After some initial disputes," disputes the inner circle lost in a bloody way, but he hadn't to remind them of that fact "we came to an understanding and a truce – a truce that was uphold more or less the whole time since then."

The three elders nodded, agreeing to the fact that they owed their strong position within Bohemia partly to Bramasov's neutrality.

"For the last three decades there have been strong business contacts between us, contacts that have proved profitable for both sides."

Again they agreed. There had been several exchanges of magical knowledge, artefacts and other things – mostly rare ingredients used in exotic rituals. Both sides had their own contacts all over Eastern Europe and the cooperation had been more than a little worthwhile.

"However, for the last three years there have been some hiccups between you and me. I'm quite certain they weren't intentional, but they exist nonetheless. Until this week I wasn't certain about the source of those problems, but now it became regretfully clear: there is one man among your circle who isn't interested in our common benefit, who puts his own advantage above even his brethren." With stony faces they listened to his explanations, about the contract he had with Tadeusz and how he broke it – in spirit if not in word. Bramasov had no doubts that the inner circle would have done the same being put in the same position. The deed itself was not inexcusable but getting caught in the process was. Playing both sides against each other was acceptable, even expected, but you had to be clever about it. Without knowing, they had a very Slytherin attitude regarding contracts.

"I can't accept such behaviour," Bramasov boomed, "especially not now, with my meeting with Baron Pascal about to happen." The three elders flinched. Baron Pascal had been one of the most important Vampire Lords of Western Europe for the past two hundred years. The events of the past year had only strengthened his position even more. According to believable rumours he even counted the Shaitan of Latin America and the White Hag of Africa to his allies. If he actually won the battle they expected to happen within the next days, he would belong to the handful of world leaders among their kind. For decades they had tried to get his ear – quite unsuccessfully so far. If Bramasov succeeded where they failed – they couldn't allow Tadeusz to spoil this chance.

"What can we do to correct these grievances?"

"A little jurisdiction among peers," Bramasov grinned evilly. Tadeusz's days were counted.

.

_**Central Africa – 21**__**st**__** of September**_

.

"Speak!" Madam Guille acknowledged the presence of her most trusted servant with a soft whisper. She actually liked the dour, silent man, not that she would ever admit to having such an emotion. He was clever enough to speak with him about her plans. He was also ambitious enough to put contestants in their places, but not too much as to kill competitors that could still be of worth to her. He was brave enough to utter critic but loyal enough to follow her decisions. He was her perfect servant – and she had to send him away.

"Everything is prepared," the man she called Viktor uttered. He didn't know why she chose the name and he never asked. It wasn't important. Only her trust was. "My team is handpicked, the voyage is organized. The host and the wand are safe and will reach their destination in time."

"Good," Madam Guille nodded slowly. She watched him closely for a while, neither of them speaking. She hadn't to ask to know about his deepest wish. He wanted to stay with her, and sadness was radiating from him that betrayed his feelings.

"You can't stay, Viktor." Her voice was surprisingly soft, surprising for anybody who didn't know her as he did.

"I understand," Viktor bowed his head. "Nothing will stop me from executing your wishes, mistress." _Not even my own feelings_.

"I know." Madam Guille allowed a tiny smile to appear on her lips.

Viktor hesitated but dared to ask nonetheless: "will you win?"

Every other servant would have been killed for the audacity to ask, but Viktor deserved an honest answer. "The chances are slim. My forces are far stronger, but they have more mages and three very strong fighters on their side." Pascal, Richard and Hafsa – each of them was nearly her equal, together they were a terrifying force. She would try her best and intended to kill at least two of them before succumbing to their combined might, but she didn't expect to win. Not this time.

"How long should I to protect these objects?" In the end he asked when he would be allowed to commit suicide. That he intended to make it a glorious suicide, she had no doubt.

"Until Voldemort returns," Madam Guille commanded. "He'll need the wand. He should use the host. Protect both until the ritual. It is planned for Halloween." What if something happened, something she didn't expect? As an afterthought she added: "if his men don't accomplish the ritual until then, you're allowed to decide about your fate when the New Year rises."

Viktor bowed. 101 days at most. "I'm your loyal servant."

"I never doubted you, Viktor."

.

_**Forest near Prague – same time**_

.

The change in the air was unmistakable. The mother of the clan had returned; Ildiko was back. The children were the most agitated ones, but Alecto Carrow was perhaps even more eager to see her new mentor. The past few days had been difficult. While most clan members tried to be friendly and welcoming to her, none of them was a real friend. None of them understood her inner turmoil, her emotional pain. Only Ophelia and Markus had a glimmer of understanding, but they were mostly together and apart from the rest. Alecto had no doubt they would depart very soon, leaving her alone again.

She was sad and depressed, and with those feelings she stood back among the clan members, trying to get a look at Ildiko. There she was, but not alone. A girl was at her side, not very old and quite fragile looking. The girl had an aura of sadness around her, an aura Alecto knew all too well. Months had passed since she last met the girl, months that hadn't been good to her.

"Alecto," Ildiko greeted her with a motherly smile. "I want you to meet Charlotte Michaels – your new sister."

.

"Isn't it too soon for such a move?" Ophelia asked Ildiko a wee bit later. The duo watched Alecto and Charlotte interact. The former Death Eater showed the former hostage the ways around the encampment. Both were moving very slowly and carefully. Charlotte obviously feared some attack any moment while Alecto tried not to spook the girl.

"I think they will be good for each other. Alecto is both sad and angry right now. She fears to be left alone. You will leave soon enough and I can only be her mentor for so long. Charlotte can be her family."

"And Charlotte? Won't she feel the urge to return to her family?"

"Someday, yes," Ildiko agreed "but not today. Her brother loves her, but he is overwhelmed. His self-doubts and feelings of guilt are getting in the way of her healing. It will be better for them to only meet when Charlotte comes to terms with her new condition. Despite my clan's hospitality: they will be outsiders for a long time. It will bring them closer to each other. And being together will help them to heal their souls."

Ophelia could only hope that Ildiko was right. Both girls could really use some soul healing.

.

_**Central Africa – 22**__**nd**__** of September**_

.

_**War Council**_

There hadn't been such an assembly of fighters since they stormed Voldemort's main lair six months ago. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Baptiste Macôme, the leaders of the British and French Auror teams, had reinforced their squads with a score of Aurors from Denmark, Spain and Italy. The Congregation was present with a dozen healers that supported the med witches of the participating DMLEs. The whole area was cordoned off by a whole company of the local militia thanks to the intervention of the White Hag.

The old lady was present herself, intent on watching the battle, and eager to protect "her" nation. Hopefully there wouldn't be any civilian losses. There had been some grumbling when the White Hag ordered the three neighbouring villages to evacuate, but in the end they obeyed. It was incredible to watch this interaction between the "normal" population and their supernatural guardians and not for the first time Harry wondered if this way wasn't better than the whole separation act the British Ministry of Magic enforced.

"The first wave will be led by Senior Auror Shacklebolt," Baron Pascal started explaining the plan of battle. He was looking at a quite detailed map of the area, showing where each team would start and how they were expected to progress. It was some kind of hammer and anvil tactic, with Shacklebolt's advance team being the hammer and Macôme's stationary team constituting the anvil. "Shaeffer's team will assist the French Aurors while Paul and Rodrigo have been designated to protect the flanks of the British teams."

Paul and Rodrigo had returned from Southern France the day before with a dozen more Vampires from France, Spain and Italy. Their presence would hopefully limit the losses of the advancing teams – losses they expected to happen with the bulk of Madam Guille's forces awaiting them in a highly defendable position. Remembering that many of the defenders would be Muggles using modern weapons, Neville and Hermione had prepared something to support their countrymen. Neville gestured towards a table where ten heaps of small stones had been gathered. They looked slightly slick, as if freshly fetched from a river bed. "These are runes stones Hermione and I prepared for your teams. Activated they cast a _Scutum Terrestris et Aquae_ spell, a 120 degree wall, five feet high and twenty feet long. Three of them can be connected to form a complete ring. The wall consists of both earth and water. It won't keep standing upright for longer than a few minutes but should easily stop even automatic weapons fire for this amount if time." Kingsley nodded thankfully. This would be immensely helpful.

"I expect each and every of your men," Baron Pascal continued "to have a word-activated portkey ready for use. If given the command, your Aurors have to be able to leave the combat area within moments."

"You're expecting something serious to happen, even more dangerous than her usual forces?"

"I do," Baron Pascal nodded. "Madam Guille could have fled the scene. The ring isn't tight enough to keep her around against her will. She has chosen to stay. She wants this fight. She'll use every option she has." He gestured towards the land in front of them. "Somewhere ahead, dark magic is waiting for us. Really dark, not that mumbo-jumbo your British Dark Lords used in the past. Your attack is only to draw her out in the open, to force her to show her hand. You have absolutely no chance to beat her on your own, not even with the three teams of Vampires accompanying you. Fight your battle, beat her mercenary forces and be ready to withdraw. I know you don't like the idea, but if you go against my orders, I have no doubt that none of your men will return."

.

_**Interlude**_

They were near. She could feel them. In no time the fighting would begin. Blood would flow freely. Unbeknownst to her men, they had been stationed in a pattern not meant for defence but for spreading blood and death all over the area. Her mercenaries were mostly useless as fighters, most of them not nearly on par with the women and men preparing the attack onto her stronghold. However, their life force would fuel her ritual, would allow her to draw even more souls from their graves and put them under her thumb.

Madam Guille smiled evilly.

_This day will be remembered for centuries._

.

_**First Wave**_

"Shoot!"

Team leader Calussi waited for the pair of Danish Aurors to open fire with their SMGs before ordering the single Irish member of his team to bombard their opponents with his very special rain of fire. McClary hadn't been a very successful professional Quidditch player but he was good enough to make his use of a transformed beater club and a dozen deadly grenades. Trusting the runed wall to protect them for a couple more minutes, Calussi watched the first grenade hit the tree behind their enemies' position five yards above the ground.

"A tad lower," he commented, grinning as the next grenade hit spot on, showering the area with bloody remains of a trio of mercenaries. He hated to kill but he hated to lose his men even more. Their tactic wasn't exactly fair, but simply rushing ahead would be stupid. Two of his men had been injured and another one killed so far. He intended to keep it to that single condolence letter.

Another grenade exploded and the remaining mercenaries lost their nerves. Six of them rushed forward, only to be mowed down by deadly SMG fire. Another pair tried to escape. They didn't get far. The shots were silenced and the smoke barely visible, but Calussi had no doubt that it had been the Vampire sniper again who put them down. Rodrigo's team took their job very serious so far, and while mostly invisible, they had been successful in limiting the losses among the Auror squad. Calussi's men were certainly thankful for their presence.

The wall started to crack and to slink into the ground. Time to advance. "Get ready!"

.

_**Harry**_

Harry and his friends were watching the battle from afar. They weren't alone in doing this, far from it. Baron Pascal was there, brooding, ice-cold air rolling of him in heavy waves. Paul had explained the meaning of this to them, ordering them to leave his master alone for now. Hafsa was there as well as was Richard Madsin. Harry was uncertain which of the two was more deadly. Richard seemed to be more of a front fighter and Hafsa obviously an assassin by nature. A duel between them would be a sight to behold. Both used the moment for some praying, it seemed. Hafsa was sitting on a small, ancient and very worn-out looking carpet – actually it looked more like an old horse rug. She was facing to the East and Harry had no doubt about somewhere over there being Mekka.

Richard's little shrine of lacquered wood and unblemished bronze, looked very similar to the Catholic shrine the Pinegrews used for their private family gatherings. Harry wondered how someone like Richard Madsin was able to reconcile his strong belief with his condition. It had to be possible as there was no doubt that Richard was still a Crusader at heart: eager to defend his belief and the weak all over the world. Seeing him, reminded Harry that he wanted to speak with the unusual Vampire for some time, since reading some story in one of his books about fire magic to be exactly. One Elemental mage of medieval times mentioned an event that supposedly happened during the Albigensian Crusade. A church, used by a couple dozen families as a place of refuge, heretics in the eyes of the attacking Crusaders, had been put to the torch, condemning those families to a horrible death. A single Crusader tried to defend those helpless souls, going so far as to attack his own comrades, first with cold steel, later with hot fire. His name? Richard Madsin. Was he still able to do this? To handle fire despite his Vampiric nature?

"The level of necromantic magic is rising."

Those were the first words the White Hag had uttered since her arrival. Harry had no idea why she decided to be around, but he was still somehow more reassured because of it. She was no friend of them, barely a loose ally, but he had no doubt that she would do everything in her might to protect her people. Her intervention could become necessary very soon.

"Prepare yourself!"

.

_**Interlude**_

The time was near. Madam Guille had double-checked everything. The runes had been ready for weeks. The source stones had been drenched with dark potions. A single flick of her wrist and hundreds of candles all over the place erupted in light, candles that had been formed out of body fat and more exotic materials.

The souls were restless. They felt the magic prodding them, ending their peaceful slumber and enforcing their return. They were unhappy about it but had no way to resist her magic. Hundreds of years she had spent learning Necromancy. Not even her old master had dared to use it on such a scale. This place was fantastic for her needs. Hundreds and thousands of human and inhuman servants were waiting for her commands.

They had dared to attack her at her strongest. They would pay for the audacity.

.

_**The Anvil**_

At first, the battle had been slow and easy on their front. There were barely two dozen mercenaries facing Macôme's team with only two or three lower echelon wizards among them. A sole neophyte had been there as well in the beginning, a young and inexperienced Vampire. His Unlife had ended tragically as he tried to frighten the Aurors away, trusting his unnatural stamina and toughness to protect him against their magic, only to realize too late that there was something like incendiary shells among the arsenal of the Spanish Aurors lying in wait. His burned corpse was still on the ground, a reminder not to underestimate the foreigners.

Now, with the forces under Shacklebolt's orders slowly but steadily advancing, the forces opposing them had tripled and the pressure increased. However, Macôme's men had put the time to good use, creating some strong defence positions and traps. A trio of his men had been especially creative. One of them, a Dutch Vampire, had been a participant of the Indonesian war of independence. He now used the knowledge he learned there to inspire a pair of British Aurors into creating some deadly traps with their magic, making it impossible to simply overrun the Aurors. Stopped by spear traps and falling logs, caught in the crossfire of snipers and deadly curses, the mercenaries very soon realized that they had no chance to win and withdrew.

The anvil was standing strong. They were awaiting the hammer crushing what remained of the enemy. This battle wasn't the stuff that heroic songs were made off, but they would win the battle and his men would survive it to tell about it. Only this mattered in Baptiste's opinion.

.

_**The Rising**_

"Can you feel it?" Daphne whispered her eyes wide and full of pain. Harry nodded slowly. Even without the White Hag's warning the development was easy to notice, impossible to ignore even. Waves of dark magic erupted from some point in the middle of nowhere, rolling through the African jungle, engulfing mercenaries, Aurors and Vampires alike. It got stronger with every pulse and soon it made everybody sick who was feeling it.

"They have to retreat," Hermione urged. Harry looked around. The White Hag was watching the development through narrowed eyes, while Baron Pascal didn't hesitate. He gestured Richard to give the expected signal and seconds later every Vampire and Auror team leader knew that it was time for hasty departure. Hopefully they would instantly obey and not hesitate. Assuming that continuing the fight was more important – or simply braver and more upright – could prove deadly very fast. To his relief the sounds of portkey arrivals announced that the order had been obeyed. Some of the new arrivals looked hurt, many looked ill, but at least they were alive. The mediwitches and healers rushed in to do their job. The blood count appeared to be smaller than feared – mostly thanks to the increased presence of Vampire allies.

New waves of magic erupted accompanied by something that only Daphne, the White Hag and a few others were able to feel. Harry put an arm around Daphne's waist to steady her. She looked as if about to faint and he was afraid to ask what happened that made her react like this.

"Merlin!" Kingsley's shocked exclamation prompted Harry look at the magical screen. It had been prepared in combination with a dozen of magical cameras to allow them a good view onto the territory their teams just left. The ground was moving now, as dozens, hundreds and perhaps thousands of clawed hands erupted from the earth. One by one, corpses that had been resting in the ground for a long time clawed their way to the surface, first only a few but within moments there were hundreds visible. It was a whole army, not only of humans but of animals as well. He was able to identify many of them. There were a couple of Zebras, a pride of dead lions and a single elephant joining the formerly humans, forming a horrible army of Undeath. Soon they were joined by other creatures as well, creatures he only knew from Hogwarts' lessons or from some of the prehistoric history books he had read last year. That creature over there looked like a sabre tooth tiger, or at least it was its skeleton, allowed to move by some dark magic that connected it bones and made its empty eye sockets glimmer in dark red light.

This place had been a burying ground for a long time. Now its time of peaceful slumber was at its end. The dead were rising, eager to kill the living. They had to stop them and soon. But how?

.

_**The second war council**_

.

"She acted like we expected," Baron Pascal announced calmly. He appeared unsurprised and unwavering, but there was an underlying hate, an urge to maim and kill. Harry had felt it himself from time to time and understood the emotion all too well. He had never met Pascal's adopted daughter but heard about her fate. According to the stories he heard, she had to be similar to Daphne in her behaviour and morals. Hopefully they would get a chance to meet her one day. "There are three obvious ways to handle this mess.

"First, we can simply walk away and leave this mess to the African Coven. In the end it was their stupid decision to allow Madam Guille to take over this spot and leave her unattended. They shall handle the repercussions on their own."

It was a harsh statement but to Harry's surprise the White Hag simply nodded. She apparently agreed that she should have foreseen this development, the dark reason behind Madam Guille's decision into choosing exactly this spot of land. However, there was no chance in hell he could accept such a decision.

"Rejected," he stated calmly. "Other choices?" Baron Pascal calmly accepted the decision with a curt nod, while Daphne noticed a glimmer of thankfulness in the White Hag's eyes. She had a feeling that Harry just got a friend in her.

"Second, I could make good use of my military contacts. The local regime is willing to allow the conduct of a… a field test of the French army."

"What are you speaking about?" Neville wondered who had no idea what kind of military weapon could be put to use to end such a threat.

"I assume Baron Pascal is speaking about a tactical nuclear weapon," Hermione explained, her voice far calmer than she felt. It shocked her that the Vampire Lord was willing to even consider such an option. "It's like a huge bomb, killing everything within a one-mile-radius. The area would be uninhabitable for centuries."

"Muggles can do that?" Neville felt ill.

"This and far more," Hermione responded weakly.

"I don't really have to answer to that pea-brained plan, do I?" Harry wondered loudly.

Pascal shrugged. "I had to at least mention the possibility."

"Nice plan, next?" Harry rolled his eyes. Silently he was hoping that there was a better plan possible. While the idea of using a tactical nuclear weapon turned his stomach, it was better than risking the death of hundreds.

"A conventional battle," Richard Madsin took over after a nod from his liege lord. "With the forces present, we have a 65% chance of winning the fight, increasing to 80-85% with reinforcements the African Coven should be able to send in within short notice."

"And the losses?" Harry asked, fearing the answer.

"I expect the permanent death of around 50-70% of our Vampire forces. The losses among the mortals will be far higher. In addition I expect a couple dozen civilian victims over the next thirty days, as we won't be able to contain all undead with conventional means."

"So we have a coward's way, a pea-brained idea and a bloody plan to choose from?" Neville summarized.

"And the fourth way to handle the mess," Harry interjected calmly, his eyes resting on the Baron, "the unobvious way to solve the problem." He narrowed his eyes as he noticed how Pascal was watching him. "A way that has something to do with our presence," he gestured towards his friends and himself.

"Exactly," Baron Pascal agreed. "Your presence opens another possibility. We'll need the assistance of the White Hag and possibly Hafsa as well, but only the special magical powers of the four of you make it feasible."

_So he had been willing to choose one of the other options before_, Harry realized. The nuclear solution certainly needed some preparations in advance, so it was a good guess that this would have been his decision of choice. Hopefully the elemental magic plan was a better one.

.

_**A ring of fury**_

.

The plan explained, the decision made, they had lost no time to execute what was necessary. The first and most urgent step had been to contain the huge army of undead warriors to the area. Whoever killed them, whoever destroyed this danger: those corpses, skeletons and moving claws had to be kept together. Every minute lost would enlarge the troubled area, would make a permanent solution more difficult and endanger more civilians.

Hermione and Daphne had to trust Kingsley to evacuate his men in time. They had no moment to spare thinking about what would happen to any mortal left in the area when their magic erupted. They were facing the White Hag in a small clearing now with a romantic little creek burbling in the sun. There were no rune stones, no candles and no burning herbs – only the determined minds of three witches, willing to put their magic and life on line to stop a terrible danger.

"Mimi nakuiteni…" There was an incredible force behind the White Hag's voice, a force that made the chest tremble and the blood pound.

"miungu ya dunia…" The earth below groaned.

„miungu ya maji…" The water started to boil. Hermione felt her magic pulse in her veins.

"miungu ya hewa…" The winds started to scream. Daphne felt her magic answer to the raging air.

"inafuatia wito wangu…" The White Hag's voice lowered for another octave. It now resembled a dark rumble, a clatter of drums in the jungle night.

Hermione had wondered before about the reputation of the White Hag, wondered why she was able to rule mages and Vampires alike undisputed. Now they understood. This amount of magic was unbelievable. However, it was a raw kind of magic, magic completely uncontrolled. This kind of magic was called upon to destroy, to rip a land asunder. It was the White Hag's variant to a nuclear weapon and for a moment both wondered if she ever had to use it in such a way before today.

Today however, it wouldn't be wielded like a hammer. Instead they would turn it into a shield, protecting the land, defending the natives. Slowly they reached out with their minds, with their magic. They took control of the forces called forth, some kind of shield formed, a kind of wall. It looked like a gigantic centrifuge, like a rotating wall of near-solid air, of whirling water and crushing earth. It reached down into the ground below like a knife cutting through vegetables. It reached far above to keep back the most daring undead, reaching higher than the small hills and every tree. The girls clasped hands, their bodies and minds connected. It was an unreal feeling. They didn't simply control these elements, they _became _the elements. They were part of the wall protecting the land. Daphne had no idea how long they would be able to keep this up. She could only hope that it would be long enough. Every minute counted for her Harry, for her love.

Succumbing to the magic, she allowed the elements to claim her conscious mind.

Hermione was the water. Daphne was the wind. They were a ring of fury.

.

_**A pillar of fire**_

Neville's thoughts drifted to Hermione and Daphne, not for the first time since they entered the area. He didn't know how they were faring, didn't dare to reach out with his mind in fear of disturbing their concentration. The effect of their magic however was clearly visible. An incredible typhoon was battering the land, enclosing it like a deathly wall and preventing any being, be it alive or undead, from leaving. And they were right in the middle of this storm.

"_I can destroy them with fire and light," Richard had explained only minutes ago. "While leading to exhaustion, I'm able to wield that amount of power. I've done it in the past." While incredible to believe, to imagine the amount of magic it needed to destroy such an army, Harry was willing to trust him. The book about elemental fire magic had apparently been right to the point, without the exaggeration often found in medieval books. It still left the question of whether it was divine magic or fire straight from hell unanswered, but right now it didn't matter._

"_However, it's nothing I can do on the run. I have to prepare, to meditate, and to gather the power slowly, else I can't handle it. I want to burn the land, not completely destroy it. Wielded the right way, my flames will burn the plants to ashes, but they'll recover in no time. They'll use the ashes to grow even stronger than before. We don't have the time to do this the normal way. I'll need your help to gather the necessary power. I'll need Neville to gather the magic from the Earth and I'll need Harry to cleanse it and transform it into fire magic. Together, I believe we can do this." _

They decided to give it a try. However, there was a teeny-weeny problem with that plan. To be successful, to be able to target the right area with their fire and not to disturb Hermione and Daphne with their magic-drawing, they had to be in the centre of the contested area, surrounded by hundreds and thousands of undead, right above the cavern where Madam Guille was hiding. She wouldn't be happy. She wouldn't simply lay back and wait for the fiery end to come knocking on her door. She would strike back and try to kill them before they were able to finish their deed.

They needed time. They needed a defence. They needed a distraction.

"Alright," Pascal drawled after a last glance around. "We'll leave you to your…" He made a wave with his hand. "…whatever you'll do around here. As soon as Hafsa and I arrive at Madam Guille's cave system, she'll concentrate on us. You should be left alone, mostly."

This had been the plan and Neville didn't like it one bit. Hafsa, the person Madam Guille hated more than anybody else, would be the bait to draw her attention. Baron Pascal would use his special abilities to transport them to one of the caverns below and from there they would fight their way through everything Madam Guille sent their way. Harry and he "only" had to handle the few strugglers remaining behind while they assisted Richard with the magic gathering. That was the plan. A silly plan with holes big enough to shove a three-story house through. But it was the only plan they had without risking the whole task force or falling back to the "nuclear weapon" idea. He still had issues imagining such a weapon. Hopefully he would never see such a thing in action.

"And how do you intend to flee in time before we spread fire and mayhem?" Harry asked, posing the question that had troubled Neville from the start. Harry and he should be able to protect the trio from the flames with a shield of earth and fire. Pascal and Hafsa however would be somewhere else, too far away to be protected by them but still within the area they would – hopefully – cover with their storm of destruction. How in Merlin's name did they intend to survive?

"We won't," Pascal shrugged. "We'll ride the fire. Don't let it concern you." Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times. He wanted to ask how he intended to do that, but didn't dare ask. Pascal didn't look like he was in the mood to explain. Actually he didn't look like he cared about his survival. Only killing and maiming that Necromancy wielding Vampire lady seemed important to him right now.

"Take care!" Richard said his farewell, his eyes resting on Hafsa, surprisingly. He seemed to feel like Harry about Pascal's non-explanation.

Pascal simply nodded, grabbed Hafsa's hand and moments later the pair had vanished into the ground. Harry and Neville stared at the empty spot for a moment, before Harry sighed. "We can't protect them. I hope he knows what he's doing. Let's start with our own task."

Richard nodded, obviously troubled about the pair's fate. Neville didn't know the exact nature of the connection between the assassin and the crusader, but it had to be close. Hopefully they would get a chance to solve whatever was troubling them.

.

"He was right, you know," Pascal uttered calmly. They had arrived in a cavern fifty feet below the surface. They were alone, for now, but certainly not for long. There was a noticeable air draught so there had to be connections to the outside, connections that would soon be filled with fire as Richard no only wanted to burn the surface but also everything below. "I should be able to withstand the fire, but how will you survive it?"

"It's a bit late to ask that question, isn't it?" Hafsa asked mockingly.

Pascal shrugged. It was his most frequent gesture today. "I could have done the baiting job on my own."

"But I'm the better bait," Hafsa claimed.

"You're tastier," Pascal grinned, earning him a punch that would have sent a normal Vampire into the next wall. He got serious again. "You didn't answer my question."

Hafsa simply stared him in the eye for a while. "I did many wrongs in the past. While I tried to make amends, I'm not certain that it was enough. I'm not certain that I deserve another chance."

Pascal opened his mouth to interject, but Hafsa stopped him with a shake of her head. "I know you believe in chances, Pascal, you always did. Perhaps you're wrong in this case." She made an encompassing gesture with her hand. "All of this – I see it as a way to let the fate decide." She smiled weakly. "Unlike Richard you aren't a man of deep beliefs, I know that. I however have always trusted in the wisdom and justice of God. My existence – I deliver it to his judgement. If my sins have been too great, if he decides I have to atone for my deeds and to die in the purging flames, I'll do it without regret."

"And if he decides that you deserve another chance?" Hafsa was right: Pascal wasn't a man of deep beliefs. He had never been one and everything he experienced since getting turned had only deepened his doubts. However, he had been close to Richard for a long time, had seen many things that convinced him that there simply had to be some power above. He had no doubts about its existence, only about its benevolence. Never, however, would he make fun of the deep-seated belief people like Hafsa and Richard showed and used to guide their existence.

"If God decides that I deserve another chance," Hafsa explained calmly, her voice telling Pascal that she didn't believe in that possibility, "then I'll accept it as well. I'll continue my existence in his name… and I'll give Richard the chance he wanted."

And for the first time in decades, Pascal felt the urge to pray. He wanted Hafsa to survive. He wanted Richard to have a chance at being together with the love of his Unlife. Both deserved a little happiness.

.

_**Iceland – same time**_

.

In tiny Lina's eyes there was another person that deserved a little happiness as well, and she was determined to make it happen. Despite the differences in race, age and personality, Lina the recalcitrant house-elf and Minerva the stubborn teacher had become good friends in the short amount of time spent together. Lina really liked her new friend/mistress/roommate, and she was dying to see little Freya being born. There was something special about the girl and not only how she came back into existence. There was some incredibly strong protection magic around mother and daughter, originating from Minerva, Matron Bryndis and another source. Lina doubted there was a single baby out there better protected.

And soon mother and daughter would leave Iceland, and return to Great Britain. And she would accompany them. She would see another land, would have another home and live with elves that were completely different to her own folk. Despite her urge to do exactly this, an urge she had felt for years, she felt a little queasy, unsure about the future. Minerva had sensed it days ago and had been the rock to Lina's inner turmoil. She was thankful for that.

In two days they would make the ride to Scotland. In two days she would see Minerva's home country. Hogwarts – she had heard so many stories about it. Lina looked around, making mental notes of the things she already had prepared, things she still had to do. Everything would be ready in time.

Scotland – here we come.

.

_**Somewhere in England**_

.

Her master was free again. She felt it three days ago. Since then she had been giddy like a schoolgirl. Soon she would see him again. Soon she would fight in his name again. He was already on his way back to Britain. A couple of abductions, a few delightful hours of torturing - Bellatrix LeStrange had no qualms about how to get her information. Be it junior Death Eater, Auror or Ministry worker – in her eyes there was no real difference: if they knew something she wanted to learn, she was willing to enforce her curiosity through every means necessary.

Nobody seemed to know where exactly her master was right now. Nobody knew where Dolohov was hiding, when and how he intended to return. But return he would. It would be difficult with the borders closed. Perhaps it was time for a little distraction. A little death and mayhem should do the trick and pull the Aurors from the borders, making them hunt poor little Bella.

Bellatrix cackled madly. Soon they would learn of her return. Soon they would fear her name again.

Bellatrix LeStrange was back into business. And soon her Dark Lord would follow.

.

_**A/N**_

_**Suaheli translator**__: "I call you, gods of the earth, gods of the water, gods of the wind, obey my call."_

_Should __**Hafsa**__ survive? Does she deserve another chance? Or should she die in the fire, atoning for her sins? _


	28. Chapter 28 The cleansing Fire

_**A/N**_

_**About importance and strengths:**_

_One reviewer commented that Harry seems to be weaker than his friends._

_I tried to make all four friends equally interesting in magic and abilities.____Each of them has something special (Daphne perhaps the most actually with her mind-healing). Hermione certainly has a number of strong supporters (because of her water magic and prospects within the Congregation), Harry is the political leader (I hoped this was obvious as quite a number of persons like Baron Pascal and the Treskows as well as the magic Ministers, both Fudge and the others, clearly address him as the quartet's leader) and has an unusual Animagus form. If at all, I fear that Neville is the plainest character among the four, because he only has his "powerhouse" ability. All in all I wanted none of them to dominate the storyline, something that is admittedly difficult to manage._

_Perhaps it is simply the fact that Harry usually dominates the story (which he doesn't in this story), that makes him appear weaker than he is._

_Minerva's age: I mixed up her age in an earlier chapter. She's actually turning 76 and not 67. However, I'll stay with the 67 as it is more believable with being pregnant and all. _

**.**

**The cleansing fire**

.

_**Central Africa – 22**__**nd**__** of September**_

.

The intensity of the battle was rising, darkness was ascending and soon his mistress would unleash the full fury of her ire. Viktor clenched his big hand around the wand. Fifteen inches long, dark and sturdy, this was a wand for a giant of a man. It had belonged to a nearly full-grown half-giant actually, some Rubeus Hagrid as far as he knew. Now it was filled with darkness, a darkness that calmed him. He had always had that connection to the powers of darkness, that cold calmness that put soothing ice around your heart. It had troubled his family; it had terrified the people of his village, and it had drawn his mistress to him.

She found him many years ago. She took him into her service, taught him many things and trusted him. He had always been her most loyal servant, daring to question her decisions but never going against her wishes. As her servant it was his duty to find the flaws in her plans, but not to make the decisions in the end. It had always been like that for… Viktor had no idea how long. Decades? Centuries? Did it matter? Never before had he even thought about going against her wishes… until tonight.

She would die tonight. His mistress would perish in this battle and she knew it. How could he walk away and leave her all alone? His place was at her side, fighting along her, dying before she died. Living or dying – it was simply wrong to walk away now. Viktor screamed, his unearthly voice rolling through tunnels. He felt tears dropping to the floor and angrily wiped them away.

_Why? Why did she send him away? _

His eyes were drawn to the other object he had been entrusted with: the coffin with the host body. Madam Guille had it prepared for the ritual that would take place in five weeks' time. The body had been magically crafted, enhanced with rituals, potions and runes of might. Inhabited by Voldemort's soul, it would be stronger than any werewolf, and most giants and dragons. It was a frightening piece of art, the supreme and last work of his dark mistress. It was her legacy.

And it was his duty to protect it. He had sworn to do it, and despite everything in him that screamed to protect her, to stay at her side, he would keep his word. He wouldn't, couldn't betray her – never.

Another scream, this one full of pain, terrified the few other inhabitants of the lair. Viktor squared his shoulders. He would stay true to his word. He wouldn't disappoint her. He would fulfil his last duty and deliver the host body and wand to his mistress' allies.

And then he would be allowed to die as well, to follow her into the darkness – pure, comforting, and soul-soothing darkness.

.

_**Central Africa – 50 feet below the ground**_

.

_She knows we're here_, Hafsa thought, a cruel smile playing around her undead lips. Madam Guille's hate was filling the air like hot steam, trying to burn them away. The resistance they met stiffened by the minute. First, it had only been a couple of undead servants. Hafsa's sword made short work of their bodies, weak and slow as they were. They posed no real danger to them. Slowly they had found their way through the tunnels and caves of this network that belonged to their enemy. Hafsa's senses had been able to take up the trail. They would find her, wherever she tried to hide.

Then she had started sending her stronger undead warrior in their direction, first a few, then a dozen, now again upping the ante with some of her strongest henchmen. One of the few mortal shamans following Madam Guille screamed something and a stream of hot air, dust and other things rushed towards her. Hafsa dodged the attack by jumping in the air, clinging to the ceiling with her stone-hard claws. She glanced towards Pascal before she dropped to the ground to avoid the next attack.

Her partner was standing a dozen steps behind, disregarding the whole fight, trusting his incredible fortitude to survive any stray attack, and was doing… something. Hafsa had no real idea what, aside from some chanting and whispering in a language that sent shudders down her spine. You wonder what language could cause such a reaction from a thousand year old Vampire assassin like Hafsa? The words he used belonged to a hellish language he had learned while fighting a cult in Latin America at the side of Shaitan, the incredible old and equally incredible infamous leader and official liege lord of a fifth of all Vampires worldwide.

Suddenly screams started to fill the air, screams that made even Hafsa's opponents pause for a moment. Something moved near Pascal, first one creature then many more. Three to four dozen creatures in all, Hafsa guessed. It was difficult to count as she only saw shadows moving around, barely humanoid, and emitting a cold fire that burned their opponents while leaving behind a cover of ice. Within seconds a full-grown battle started with Pascal' shadows fighting Madam Guille's zombies. The shadows were stronger one-on-one, but the zombies were more numerous and had a seemingly endless supply. Pascal looked somewhat exhausted now and Hafsa supposed that this was nothing he could repeat too often, not without a preparation like the one Madam Guille had used to defend this place.

With a mighty jump and completely silent, Hafsa passed the shadows and zombies battling each other and surprised the shaman, her clawed hands ripping out his throat. _This will teach you not to follow the wrong woman in the future anymore_, she cackled silently.

.

_**Central Africa – in the storm's eye**_

.

_Why didn't I think about taking the fire stone with me?_ Harry groaned, while watching the show. The wall of wind and water was doing its incredible job, keeping hundreds of undead caged to this place. They had tried to pass it more than once: walking, running or jumping, nothing seemed to work for them. For the past few minutes quite a number of them had gathered and tried to force the wall down, but because of the ever present movement of the wall, its fast circling around, their pressure had no chance to find a weak point. This wasn't a solid wall, nothing that could be slowly overcome, with little fissures weakening the whole construct. This was pure magic and raging elements.

The trio had started their work as well, Neville gathering magic from the ground, Harry transforming it into pure fire and Richard storing it away for later use. He was… impressive, astonishing, and frightening. Richard Madsin had changed very much since the start of their ritual. He had grown at least two feet. He had sprouted wings with a wingspan of at least ten feet if not more. He didn't look like a mortal anymore; however, he wasn't a creature of darkness either. Instead, he looked like an angel created from fire. It was hard to look at him for a long time. His aura mostly seemed to keep the few remaining Undead at bay. Some of them had been circling for a while, but looked cowered by Richard's presence. It wouldn't last for long, as Richard obviously wasn't fully there. He didn't react to the events around him, was fully concentrating on the task at hand, trusting Harry and Neville to defend him should the need arise.

And they wouldn't disappoint him.

.

"We could really use the fire stone right now," Harry complained.

Neville nodded, but concentrated on the shield he was preparing. He had been working at condensing the stone ground around them and gathering material for the next phase. When Richard was ready, when he started to flood the whole area with his cleansing fire, Neville intended to protect the trio with a shield of his own. He had been thinking about it, tried to guess what kind of heat they were speaking about. He had some experience with lava and the flaming destruction an active volcano caused. They needed some kind of stone resistant to such a heat, thick enough not to turn their shield into an oven. It wouldn't do to keep the fire away only to be baked alive.

Meanwhile they were still supporting Richard's gathering of magic, but it was a subconscious process. They could speed up the process but Richard wouldn't be able to handle such an amount of power in such a short time. With no former experience in such an endeavour together, they had to be careful.

"We'll use it another time," Neville said with a shrug. He trusted Harry to strengthen Richard enough even without the stone. It didn't help to think about spilled milk. The stone was securely placed at Hogwarts. "Aim your fire at that crystal," he pointed towards a small pillar of crystal he created as a prototype. "As hot as possible," he added. Harry nodded and concentrated, after a last look around. The Undead slowly got itchy. Soon they would attack.

"Deflagratio!" A jet of flames engulfed the pillar, its colour first yellow, but slowly turning into blue-white as Harry concentrated on reaching higher degrees. The flame was now hot enough to even melt iron. He had been working on melting platinum as well, but it had been very exhausting. After a few moments he allowed the flames to die down. The crystal looked unimpressed.

"You now have your shield," Neville declared, looking quite happy.

.

"Shit!"

With Richard still doing his "flaming angel" thing and Neville creating more of his crystal pillars, fire-resistant but see-through, Harry had taken on the task of defending them against the increasing attacks of the rampaging undead. They acted in an uncoordinated manner so far, luckily. A skeleton here, a zombie there; a pair of mummified lions had been the most dangerous attack so far. However, something just changed.

The undead had stopped their futile attempts at battering down the storm-wall. Instead they slowly gathered around the trio. Harry counted at least three dozen deceased humans and half that number in animals. They parted now to make way for the sole undead elephant he had watched emerge from the ground – had it already been an hour ago… or far longer? It certainly felt like days. Riding on the impressive beast was none else than the skeletal sabre tooth tiger. The sight of this deadly beast had been the reason for Harry's outcry.

He glanced around, shortly locked eyes with Neville. His friend was aware of the danger, would be able to defend himself, especially if Harry recognized that greyish shine on his skin for what it was: a stone skin spell. However, he still wasn't ready; he still had to create more of those crystals to be able to protect them later. No, it was still Harry's job to defend them. They simply were too numerous to keep them back with wand and dagger. He had to find another way.

"It's time for a little 'show your inner animal'," he whispered with a vicious grin.

.

The wyvern whirled around, her left claw ripping apart one of the lions charging her while the tail-sting pierced the chest of a zombie. The powerful tail muscles lifted the body to the air and shook him back and forth, tossing him away in the end. He crashed against a rock and created an ugly bursting noise. More than a quarter of the attacking undead had already been destroyed so far, but there was no end in sight. The smaller and weaker specimen that belonged to the first wave had so far been unable to endanger him. His natural scales were hard enough to deflect most attacks and he got additional protection by Neville's stoneskin spell. After learning how to put such a spell on an owl, without impairing her flight abilities, it was child's play for Neville to create such a defensive layer on a mighty wyvern.

Something was stomping on the ground to the left, charging him, but Harry was too distracted by him biting another zombie's head off to react in time. A mighty body crushed into his side, an equally mighty foot pressing him to the ground. Harry tried to get away, but there was far too much strength behind that foot. After much wriggling he was able to halfway turn around at least, his right wing battering away two zombies that pertly tried to use the moment for an attack on their own.

_It's the elephant_, Harry realized. His heavy hoof, or foot, whatever, was pushing and smashing him into the ground. Mighty as he was, his wyvern form still was not fully grown; it was no match for the pure strength of this mighty beast. The skeletal sabre tooth tiger was still residing on the elephant's shoulder as if enjoying the ride, watching Harry's attempts to get away with cruel joy in his dark-red flaming eyes. Harry ordered his tail to flail around, his sting piercing the broad chest of the elephant several times. It was of no use however. The arm-thick holes in his side didn't really disturb the undead creature and his paralytic poison found no body system to knock out. There was no blood system to carry the poison to its heart, no nerve system to shut down.

_I need another weapon. _

For thousands of years, dragons and wyverns had been natural enemies, both using the same hunting grounds. Dragons used their bigger size and far superior strength to dominate their smaller cousins. Harry had gotten a first hint of that competition as he dreamed about his Animagus form two years ago. In that nightmare, he had been chased by an enraged dragon. While a flock of wyvern was able to drag down at least smaller dragons, they were no match in one-on-one battles. Not only were dragons far stronger, their claws and teeth were longer as well, able to penetrate a wyvern's scales while the wyvern couldn't retaliate in kind. More important however was the simple fact that a wyvern was unable to match the dragon's deadliest weapon: fire. A wyvern sting was able to punch a hole even into a dragon, but its poison – meant to paralyze its prey – wasn't strong enough to take him down. Never before had a wyvern been able to compensate for that fact, that disadvantage of not having a breath weapon of its own. Never – until today.

Wyvern-Harry opened his mouth and allowed the fire in his heart to take form, spitting it against the undead elephant attempting to crush his chest. Even his undead sturdiness was no match for the heat of the flames, as they burned away the strong muscles and sinews, turning the heavy bones into black crisps. Harry clawed his way out, heaving his opponent away. The elephant lost his balance as one of his legs stopped to exist, leaving behind only ashes and burned flesh. He toppled to the side and onto the ground, nearly crushing his rider in the process. At the last moment however the sabre-tooth tiger leapt away into safety. Harry followed up with another sprout of hot flames, engulfing a second leg, securing that this opponent would be unable to stand up again. Now it was time to take care of the rider.

Wyvern-Harry turned around and fletched his sharp dagger-like teeth. _Come here, kitty-kitty. Let's play a bit. This won't hurt you – much_.

.

_**Central Africa – 50 feet below the ground**_

.

Hafsa had to admit: she was impressed.

While she had the reputation of being one of the most deadly assassins of the Vampire society – partly thanks to the simple fact that she survived for so long despite her profession – and Richard was rightly feared because of his combination of strength, cold steel and hot fire, she only now realized that Baron Pascal was in a class on his own. He had long stopped to use his flashy longsword, stopped to fight like a 17th Century nobleman, and turned into a vicious, deadly and extremely fast brawler.

Right now he ripped apart an opponent that had been interred long enough to have a thick layer of fossilisation protecting him. Sharp, steel-like claws simply shredded the outer skin away and clawed at the softer inside. In passing he lashed out and caused a headless corpse to crash into a wall while its head vanished somewhere in the darkness. One of his opponents hit him into the back with a dull sword – some primitive creation of bone, wood and stone splinters to turn it into some kind of saw sword – but Pascal barely seemed to notice.

They had made quite some progress so far, destroying dozens of defenders on their way as well as a couple of labs, working rooms and even a part of Madam Guille's living quarters. Pascal had cackled madly as he ripped into two a priceless Spanish master paintings. He had to be really pissed to do such a sacrilege, as he was a well-known devotee of the painted arts. Hafsa now mostly stayed behind, partly because she wanted to protect his back, and partly because she didn't trust Pascal right now to know the difference between friend and foe. He had been mumbling Amélie's name from time to time and really seemed to slowly lose it.

As they entered the next part of the dungeons – this one apparently being some kind of prison with heavy chains hanging at the walls and quite a collection of whips, scourges, branding irons and tongs greeting the unsuspecting guest – they were greeted by an ugly sight.

"We really have to stop her," Hafsa mumbled in an old Arabic dialect. This was simply disgusting and sick.

Flesh-forming was an old art form among Vampires. For a long time it had mostly been used by some of the most beautiful and ugly Vampires, to change their appearance. It was a mix of modern cosmetic surgery and pottery. The flesh-former used his abilities to turn the flesh, muscles and even bones into something similar to wet clay, allowing him to mould it to his will. It was a very painful but effective process if done by an artist of that art. However, over time there had been found other uses of the skill, uses that were far more sinister and dark. It allowed the creator to strengthen warriors, to toughen them by adding additional bone plates and even other materials, or even to merge several bodies into a single, taller and stronger one. Those abilities had certainly been the origin of some of the stories about flesh golems.

Madam Guille had done exactly that. Hafsa didn't know who the poor soul had been or how he deserved this fate. She didn't know he had been the war boss responsible for Amélie surviving the ambush, now serving his mistress in another capacity. Madam Guille used the bodies of some of his men to add to his own, creating a huge fourteen feet monster, clad in a layer of six inch bone plates with some of them formed into spurs and blade-like weapons, the result an unnatural creature that emitted strength, brutality and viciousness as well as sadness, pain and despair.

_You'll pay for this as well_, Hafsa promised her former mistress and moved to attack.

.

It was pure pandemonium.

More than a dozen corpses were strewn on the ground, some of them in parts, others mutilated beyond recognition. Another dozen was attacking Hafsa and Pascal, trying to get a hold on the fast moving Vampires and drag them to the ground. And all the times the flesh-formed creature was battling Pascal in a furious contest of primitive strength.

Even Pascal was unable to match the brutal power of this creature. Both were exchanging blows, none of them doing much noticeable damage to their opponent. Pascal had a few bruises and was slightly protecting his right side were the creature's broad foot had hit his chest, and the golem had lost some of his spurs and the blade on his left forearm. Still, neither looked ready to succumb to their opponent so far.

_We have to put him down together_, Hafsa realized, cutting cleanly through another Zombie's chest with her wicked looking scimitar. Pascal obviously had the same thought. He backed away from his opponent and started to take down a couple of Hafsa's opponents, using simple strength, preferring speed to his usual far more graceful fighting style, and all the time evading the golem that tried his best to get a hold of him.

"She's nearing," Hafsa urged Pascal. "We have to take him down and fast." Pascal nodded. He didn't sense her so far, but trusted Hafsa's better senses. Richard once mocked her, comparing her sense of smell with a bloodhound. She hadn't liked it one bit, despite him being spot on. As Pascal caved in the chest of one Zombie, Hafsa put the last pair down with a double attack of her scimitars, before jumping to the left of the golem. Deflecting one of his punches with her left blade – she felt the power of his attack in every bone and her respect for Pascal's toughness was raised another notch – she whirled around and put her full power into long cutting sweep, hitting the soft flesh between two bone plates. The golem screamed, for the first time feeling real pain. It turned around, slower now as Hafsa had cut some sinews in his leg. She still had to be careful. One or two good hits would knock her out long enough to allow the golem to finish her off.

Hafsa slowly backed away, hitting the golem a dozen times with her blades, while dodging his attacks. Soon she would have no room anymore to avoid him, but she wanted to buy Pascal some time. Luckily it soon proved to have been a grave error of the golem to ignore his second opponent. Pascal used the time for recovering and gathering a second breath, before he went in for the kill. Jumping on the golem's back, he climbed his broad back, using the bone plates like free climber would the fissures of a mount's flank. The golem noticed the new attack, but was unable to get rid of the annoying man. Then Pascal did something even Hafsa didn't expect. For a few seconds he appeared a little see-through and somehow was able to bypass the bone plates, actually crawling into the flesh of his opponent. In a second phase, his appearance changed again. He turned into something that looked immensely like a crystal.

_Perhaps this is how he intends to survive the fire_, Hafsa guessed.

Whatever the case, it allowed him to finish the golem off in a very gruelling manner. His crystallized body, still resting within the back and chest of the golem, forced the bones, muscles and organs of his opponent aside, bursting open the whole body and breaking the bone plates away. Blood, flesh and other parts of the creature got strewn around all over the place. Suddenly missing a third of his body, the golem went down on his knees with a deep scream of pain. The small head with the dark eyes – the last remainder of the man that he once had been – stared at Hafsa with a deep sadness. It didn't move, didn't try to dodge or defend, as Hafsa attacked him. Both scimitars cut into the hideous beast, one cleaving the head in two, the other nearly cutting the head off. She instantly jumped back, tearing out her weapons with some difficulty, while Pascal hurled himself from the back, his body heavily hitting the stone floor before he slowly started to turn back to his usual self.

Like a felled tree, the golem slammed into the ground face first and didn't move anymore.

"My, my, that wasn't very nice."

Hafsa and Pascal turned around to face their newest – and last – opponent. The host had arrived – Madam Guille.

.

_**On the surface**_

.

Perhaps he had been a bit too cocky. Luckily neither Hermione nor Daphne was around to scold him. Damn, was that sabre tooth tiger strong. Harry was hard pressed to dodge its murderous attacks while batting away the remaining undead. Neville had started to put the crystals together. There was already a half-circle visible, twenty feet in diameter and four feet high. Richard had started to hover fifteen feet above the ground, now emitting a painful light, his wings appearing like they were aflame. It was an impressive sight, one he would never forget.

He had been distracted a second too long. Harry cursed as the tiger's mighty jaws closed around his wing. Neither scales nor stoneskin spell were able to protect him against this attack. The long canines pierced his wing and started to rip at it. It hurt like hell. Crashing another undead with his claw, he whirled around and snapped at the tiger's necks. He actually got hold of one of the thick bones. Dragging it aside, he forced the tiger to open his mouth and let go of his wing. Still, he would be unable to fly until that injury was healed properly, and with Daphne being the only healer he trusted to take care of a wyvern wing, he had a hell of scolding looming darkly in the near future.

The tiger turned around and slashed his claws over Harry's shoulder and snout. Deep gashes opened and his blood started to flow freely. This opponent was a real nemesis. Harry breathed fire at the tiger to buy himself a little time. His bones blackened from the heat and he really jumped back a little, but the damage was far less than hoped, simply because he hadn't muscles, sinews and flesh to burn away like the undead elephant.

Neville watched the fight with growing concern. He could feel the level of magic rising. The whole time Harry and Neville had subconsciously continued to feed Richard with their magic. He was now brimming with it, small waves of heat rolling around. Richard looked ready to explode. It was time to get to safety. Harry executed a deadly dance among his enemies, piercing one with his tail sting, ripping apart another one with his claws, and burning away a third with his fire. He turned around just in time to see the sabre-tooth tiger start another attack. This one however got stopped by a healthy and very pissed looking bear jumping on his back. Strength and weight were enough to push him to the ground, flat like a hearth rug. Seconds later, shackles from pure stone started to bind him to the ground. The bear grinned. Harry hadn't been the only one training how to combine Animagus and Elemental magic. The shackles wouldn't last for long, but Neville assumed it would be long enough. With his mighty paw, he gestured Harry to follow him, after crushing an Undead that had already been weakened by Harry's tail sting. Seconds later, both boy-Animagi were in relative safety, Harry keeping the undead away with well-aimed fire bursts while Neville closed the last gaps in his wonderful crystal igloo.

It was impossible to look at Richard right now, the brightness was too intense. _Hopefully Pascal and Hafsa are safe_, Harry mused.

And the fiery angel named Richard Madsin exploded, his flames drowning the world.

.

_**50 feet below the surface**_

.

Madam Guille had certainly used her time well. She had always been a mighty Vampire, but her powers had mostly been on the intellectual side, less on physical fights. A year ago, when both still followed Voldemort's orders, she would have beaten Madam Guille easily, Hafsa was certain. Today however, it looked quite different. There were necromantic runes scratched on her skin – a skin that looked very unhealthy. Hafsa assumed it to be some kind of potion that Madam Guille used like some skin milk. Anyway, her skin had hardened immensely while still allowing her to move gracefully. It felt like hitting a wall of basalt.

Pascal didn't fare much better. He was faster, more agile than and nearly as strong as his opponent, despite the exhaustion of the former fights. It should have been easy to take her down, but it wasn't. His steely claws barely chipped Madam Guille's skin, sending tiny stone-like splinters flying through the air. She was laughing, apparently certain of her victory. It was only for show, however, Hafsa was sure of that. She knew her former mistress well enough to see through her façade. Madam Guille was done and dusted, and she knew it.

Another thing Hafsa knew was the fact that Richard was nearly finished with his preparations. A small smile crept on her face. If Pascal had seen it, it would have shocked him to the core. Hafsa rarely smiled and never like this: sadly, like she lost something important, like she regretted a choice. And it was all of this. Richard had been hitting on her for decades at least, more like centuries. They had rarely met, with Hafsa mostly being active in Arabia while Richard lived in Europe. Every time their paths crossed however, the former crusader tried to convince her to give them a chance. She never allowed it to happen. Now it never would be. Despite what she told Pascal, there would be no rescue. Richard's fire and light was in diametric opposition to her shadow and darkness. His flames would burn her away and she regretted a little the pain he would feel about her death, that he would be the one killing her in the end.

But she had done too many misdeeds in the past. She had killed too often, many times not even really knowing her victims but simply obeying orders. It was the way of her clan, the way of her heritage, but today she was able to see how wrong it had been. Part of her decision two years ago to help Madam Guille had been the hope that she would die in a fight against the British Vampires, Werewolves and Wizards. She hadn't intended to commit suicide back then, but her death would have been without grief. Something had changed since then. Perhaps it had been the letters she exchanged with Pascal and Amélie. Blasted romantics the lot of them. Still, she had to pay. And she really wanted to see Madam Guille go down, burning and screaming. Both wishes would get fulfilled today, it seemed.

Pascal continued to fight but his heart wasn't in it. He had sparred with Richard far too often to fumble now, with Madam Guille really being no match skill-wise. Thanks to her runes she was somewhat stronger than him, but she was too slow and her attacks too predictable to really endanger him. On the other side her special potion made her skin nearly impenetrable, deflecting every of Pascal's attacks. This gave him time to think things through while he waited for the fire to fill the cave. Richard was nearly ready. While they didn't possess the connection Harry and his friends had, the centuries of fighting side by side allowed Pascal to have a feeling what his friend was doing right now. Within the next minute he would unleash the divine fire – Pascal had no doubt that its source was divine, it simply burned too much to be anything else. He was able to withstand a pyre, a WWII flame thrower and even the heat of an iron melting furnace – each of them he had endured in the past – but Richard's fire was deadly, even for him.

However, it wasn't his own fate that was troubling him. He glanced past his opponent. Hafsa was attacking the woman's back, not that she got better results than Pascal. She intended to die today, he could feel it. Despite her little speech about putting her fate into god's hands, she already had decided what would happen in this cavern. Pascal was unwilling to accept that. He was certainly not the hand of god. Perhaps it wasn't his right to take that decision away from her. However, he had nearly lost Amélie to this war, the woman he loved like a daughter, the only family he had aside from his brother since his wife…

"Painful not to be the winner for once, isn't it?" Madam Guille mocked. Pascal frowned, only now realizing that tears of blood were streaming down his face.

"Shut up, bitch," he growled, only causing her rumbling laughter to fill the cavern. "You'll die today."

"I don't think so," she responded, with less confidence than she wanted to show.

Before she had a chance to continue, they all felt it. Somewhere above the world exploded and deadly fire filled the air. Their fighting stopped for a moment and all three listened. Heavy waves of fire rolled over the surface, burned everything in its path, and filled the air with silent screams of undead bursting into ashes. Humanoid, animal, zombie or skeleton, zebra or sabre-tooth tiger – the fire got each and all of them. Within seconds the group of undead trying to claw their way into the crystal igloo was turned into fine-powdered ashes. Barely a minute later the flames reached the edges of the area and hit against the wall of wind and water. Steam erupted in incredible amounts and made it impossible to watch what happened within.

Then the fire found exits from its prison. Still struggling to expand, it streamed into the holes and corridors that connected the surface with the cave system below. Like following its own intellect, it followed the corridors and tunnels, filled the caves and artificially created rooms, and burned everything in its path. Neither undead, protection ward nor door was able to withstand its power.

Madam Guille reacted to the imminent danger by standing straighter, squaring her shoulders and… she looked even stonier now. _She tries to harden herself,_ Pascal realized. She raised her hands and mumbled something, apparently putting more and more protection wards on herself. Madam Guille had always been at her best with some preparation time under her belt and Pascal dreaded the chance that she would survive even this onslaught if left alone – she would survive and Hafsa would die. He couldn't allow this to happen. Deciding how to act in an instant, he burned large amount of blood in his body to speed up his reflexes. He would regret this later. It would weaken him for weeks, he knew. However, right now he needed every last pint of power. Drawing a slender looking dagger from the sheath at his hip, Pascal grinned evilly. It was a very special weapon, a weapon created by a good friend that had been waiting for such a chance. It wasn't actually a dagger, more a kind of stake with silvery runes edged into the dark yew wood, and with a handle attached to it crafted from the bone and skin of some mythical beast that even most wizards knew nothing about anymore – apart from a few ones like the Lovegoods.

The weapon burned in his hand like it had been at his side. Without the equally special sheath's protection, the pain would have been unbearable. In a swift motion Pascal jumped over Madam Guille's shoulder. Every Chinese Circus artist would have been proud to execute such a flip. Now he had her back in full sight. She didn't move to defend herself, trusting a little secret of hers to protect her against any silly attack should her opponent even be able to penetrate her skin, and concentrated instead on the fiery danger ahead. She didn't know however that Pascal had the same little secret about his body. His was a natural skill if a little weird, while hers was thanks to a ritual spell she had used in the far past. The result was the same: the array of their organs was mirror-inverted, meaning that her heart was on the right side of her chest, not on the left.

Pascal lashed out with his dagger, his hand blistering from the contact alone. The tip easily penetrated the skin, like a chisel would. Slipping through her flesh, passing between two rips, it sank into her withered heart. Madam Guille opened her mouth, unable to scream or mutter a single word. Pascal knew that this wouldn't kill her. It wasn't that easy. It would paralyze her however, disable her from taking cover or increasing her magical defences. At the same time the special enchantments would weaken her, make her more susceptible to a number of attacks – like divine fire.

_You'll die_, Pascal smirked. _You'll pay for nearly killing my beloved Amélie_.

The fire rolled into the cavern, filled it in seconds and burned everything. Madam Guille's body started to steam within moments. The blood flooding from the stake wound was the first part to hiss angrily and burst into flames. It was time to go.

Pascal turned around to look at Hafsa. _And you'll live_. Hafsa realized what he intended to do. She jumped back, dodged his hands, and sent him a last, sad look. The blood burning in his body hastened his every move, made him superior to most Vampires for a short amount of time, but even now he was no match for Hafsa. He had to vanish instantly else Richard's flames would destroy him as well. He already felt his skin burning, his blood boiling. He hadn't felt pain like this for years. Activating his special merging ability – the same ability that allowed him to find his daughter in the mine – Baron Pascal vanished. Hafsa watched him sink into the ground, locking eyes, and sending the silent request to greet Richard from her, to say her farewell.

The last thing Pascal saw before darkness extinguished everything was a wall of fire engulfing Hafsa, the Vampire standing there, proudly, like a true warrior.

The last thing he heard before the stone blocked every sound was Madam Guille's death scream.

Hafsa felt the purging flames lick on her skin, burning away the guilt. In a couple of seconds everything would be over, nine centuries of fights would be at their fiery end.

She didn't notice the claws that – like in a bad horror movie – came from the ground, ignored the flames licking at them, as they closed around her ankles. She didn't feel how they pulled her down, dragged her into the stony ground. Hafsa was already in that place between life and death, consciousness and eternal dream.

_You won't die. Not on my watch. _

As Madam Guille's burned body broke apart, and her ashes scattered to the ground, only a badly burned stake reminded of the former presence of Pascal the Baron and Hafsa the Assassin.

It was over.

.

_**London – 23**__**rd**__** of September**_

.

"Damn," Neville growled, as he shouldered Harry's back. "I'm certain you only got that nick so that I have to carry your bag."

"You only now figured that out?" Harry smirked back. He had three thin angry lines in his face from the still healing scars he got thanks to the sabre-tooth tiger, matching the ones on his shoulder. He carried his arm in a sling, as the wing injury carried over to his human body. Apart from those wounds he looked quite well for someone who survived a battle against dozens of undead only 24 hours ago.

His three friends were uninjured but seriously exhausted. Daphne and Hermione still looked as if walking on a cloud, a repercussion of that weird storm-wall ritual. Both had eyes that reminded Harry very much of a stormy night, complete with lightning. It was a mesmerizing sight, but the White Hag promised that they would change back within time. He regretted it a little. It certainly looked special, and it suited Daphne. Hermione on the other hand was certainly eager to have her usual eyes – and her hair - back. It was even more unruly than usual, with little flashes crackling from time to time. And both felt stronger than before, especially their connection to their elements. With Hermione he was able to feel it more strongly, her water opposing his fire made it more obvious to him. Neville had told him the same about Daphne and her Air magic. The White Hag had explained it – after the ritual:

"_They're still humans, despite their special affinity. The human nature defines and confines them. The ritual partly broke that border down, made them more open to their related element. I expect them to have a far stronger bond in the future, if they allow it to happen. Their control will be more natural."_

Daphne was still thinking about how much she wanted to loose herself in her Air magic. Harry expected her to be very careful about it. Hermione however seemed really happy about the development. It was kind of weird to see this other side of the rational and self-controlled witch. Neville seemed to like this side of his girlfriend as well. She was certainly more outgoing than before, more playful and less restrained regarding PDA.

The battle had changed Neville and Harry as well, Harry feeling it more strongly than Neville. The fire in his heart had changed; it burned stronger and purer now. This at least would have been his description should anybody ask. He was still uncertain what exactly caused the change in him, as he hadn't been part of a ritual like the girls. Perhaps it had simply been the experience of watching Richard. The crusader even offered him a parting gift, a very personal one. Harry now had a small booklet in his pocket, a diary of sorts, with thoughts and experiences, meditation notes and training descriptions – all not very orderly but very… you could say intimate: Words coming straight from the heart and only understandable for someone who shared the inner fire that was burning in Richard, a fire that fuelled his desire to change the world and make it a better place.

"Do you think they'll have a chance at happiness?" Daphne asked.

Hermione sighed. "I really hope so, but perhaps that's the romantic in me speaking."

Both Pascal and Hafsa had been rescued from their stony grave aka survivals spot a couple of hours after the battle. They had to wait for so long to have the fire to burn down enough for a rescuing team to enter the place safely. A caged tiger had nothing against Richard in that span of time, and he had to be bodily stopped a few times from simply storming off in search of "his" girl – not that Hafsa would allow such a moniker.

Pascal had already been brought back to France, where he would recover with his daughter, his recovery hopefully needing only a couple of months and not years like Amélie. Hafsa however had been seriously injured. The White Hag had offered to take care of her, and Richard had accepted after much growling. Hafsa certainly looked different now. It was more of a new feeling than purely physical, but nonetheless unmistakable. Something had changed in her down in that cavern. Harry had a feeling it was a change for the better. He was certain that Richard and Hafsa had a chance at happiness in the future.

"Too bad we didn't get the wand," Neville stated calmly. He hadn't really expected it, but hoped till the end. Harry didn't feel the destruction of the wand as the fire flooded the cavern, so they already assumed that Madam Guille had outsmarted them, before they learned about a group of her henchmen leaving the country an hour before the battle started. At least they had a description and a name: Viktor.

"I'm still happy we put her down," Harry replied. "It was bad enough over there in the wilderness. Can you imagine her pulling that stunt somewhere near Hogsmeade or on the Central Cemetery of London?"

Neville shuddered. That would have been a full-blown catastrophe. "Yeah, better take her down this way, and apart from Tommy-Boy and his band of cowards."

"Yep," Harry grinned. "And now we'll concentrate on Tom. I have the feeling he'll arrive soon enough. And we'll be waiting for him."

.

_**Scotland – 24**__**th**__** of September**_

.

"Welcome back, Minerva," Headmaster Flitwick greeted her warmly. Lina was standing at her protégée's side, watching him and the rest of the welcoming committee warily. She only relaxed when she noticed Hermione and Neville as well among all the foreign Bigfeet.

"I'm happy to be here again," Minerva sighed, hastily adding with a glance towards Lina "not that I didn't like my vacation."

"She only had to get dragged out of her office screaming and cursing," Neville whispered to Lina. Minerva chose to ignore that statement. Her condition was unmistakable now, with her being in her sixth month. However, Minerva looked far healthier than before, younger even, and had a glow about her. Nobody who saw her now would believe her to be the 67 she was – or would be in a few days as her birthday was fast approaching. Agatha and Augusta had already started the preparations and could hardly wait for the fourth of October to come around.

"And this is Lina," Minerva introduced.

One of the three house-elves belonging to the group came forward and bowed slightly. "I'm Robert, son of William and Mathilda," he introduced himself. "I'm the Patron of the house-elves of Hogwarts. Welcome to Hogwarts, Lina of Hafnarfjördur." Despite having already known about the change, it was a slight shock for Minerva to see someone else than Matron Mathilda doing this job. Her whole life, it had been Matron Mathilda's duty to greet new house-elves and make them feel welcome. And now it was the turn for the next generation to do this. Neville nudged Hermione and pointed towards Lina. Hermione nodded and shared his grin. Both had noticed how Lina's eyes widened as she noticed the stately Patron of Hogwarts, and there was clearly a blush. "Shall we tell her that he's still single?" Neville asked, earning him a slightly stronger nudge in return.

"And these are Ciddy and Paddoc," he introduced the other two house-elves. "They know Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall and her friends quite well. They'll help you with everything." Ciddy offered her usual smile, while Paddoc actually looked happier than usual. He obviously liked Minerva more than most other staff members – apart from his favourite, naturally: Professor Snape.

"Thank you," Lina bowed in return. "I'm certain we'll get along splendidly."

.

_**Golden City – 24**__**th**__** of September evening**_

.

There was an exuberant mood all over the place. Most members of the gang had gathered, mortal and immortal ones side by side, enjoying the opulent meal with wine and beer flowing freely – or a nice goblet with sweet blood. After a couple of drinks most had even forgotten the intimidating presence of the triumvirate, while Bramasov's jokes, stories and dreamscape did much to relax and entertain the audience. He was the guest of honour tonight. Only one detail disturbed some of the older and more experienced gang members: the disappearance of their leader. Nobody had seen Tadeusz for days and there were already rumours around, spoken hush-hush, telling about his fate and a possible successor.

Everybody calmed down as the spokesman of the triumvirate left his place and gestured Milan to follow him. Milan was one of the older and calmer gang members, known for careful planning and never allowing his emotions to control his actions. Many brethren even doubted that he was still alive as controlled as he was – if a Vampire-Wizard could actually be called alive.

"It is time for a change," all talk stopped and the mesmerized gang watched the pair of men closely. "For years we allowed Tadeusz to lead you in our name. And he was a good leader, a war-leader. However, in this new world, with the next millennium dawning and Europe growing together, with the iron curtain vanished and our home country changing – some say for the better, other for the worse, but in any case seriously changing – we can't stay still and look back. New demands and new challenges, they make it necessary to appoint a new leader, a leader that it able to face these new times, to lead you with savvy and acumen, who doesn't allow petty feelings to rule his mind, who is able to keep old allies close and win new friends over. We the triumvirate are certain that Milan is right this man. From tonight on, he'll be your new leader."

He beckoned a couple of members to step nearer with some empty jugs, and with a wave of his hand he cancelled an illusion that had been hiding something so far. Most gang members gasped, and Milan's eyes widened slightly, as Tadeusz became visible. He was hanging upside down in some wooden scaffolding. More than one spectator flinched, as the speaker pulled a tap from his pocket and pushed it into Tadeusz carotid with a single, swift motion. There was silence all around apart from Tadeusz groaning, as the speaker started to fill the jugs and ordered them to distribute them among the audience.

"Let's drink a toast," he uttered calmly "A toast to Milan, a toast to our bright future, a toast to fame and money that is waiting for us right behind the next hill. To us!"

"To us!" The men muttered, nobody daring to reject this special drink. Following their leader's example they smashed their empty jugs on the floor.

"And now: let's celebrate. It's a night of pleasure and amusement, isn't it?" He looked around like searching for something. "But we're lacking something, don't you think?" He asked Milan.

The new leader looked thoughtful for a moment, before he slowly nodded. "A feast of joy needs a bonfire."

"Yes," the speaker nodded excitedly. "How could I forget?" With a flick of his hand, he had a magical torch in his hand. He offered it to Milan, who graciously accepted it. Under that mesmerized eyes of his gang members and with a stoic look on his face, he stepped closer and put the torch against Tadeusz's skin. It instantly erupted in flames and the former leader started to scream like mad. The speaker turned towards Bramasov and exchanged a small bow.

It was clear to everybody: this was punishment and warning in equal measure.

Punishment for the old leader, for his betrayal, for losing more than a dozen men in a senseless fight, and for betraying an ally.

Warning for the new leader not to repeat those errors. From the look of Milan's face, he had no intention to do so.

Bramasov had an indulgent smile on his face. He was content. Harry Potter and his friends better never learned about this little party. They wouldn't understand. This wasn't the way of the humans.

This was the way of the Vampires.

He lifted his own jug and toasted towards Tadeusz. _Nobody is too worthless not to be established as a bad example at least. Burn proudly. _


	29. Chapter 29 Time to relax

**Time to relax –Time to prepare – Time to fight**

.

_**Hogwarts – 28**__**th**__** of September**_

.

Minerva had been back at Hogwarts for four days. She mostly enjoyed her time so far, if only Augusta and Agatha hadn't been so adamant about continuing to teach the lessons. Minerva had been allowed to watch the show, but only as a guest and silent observer. She had to admit that Augusta knew her Transfiguration and Agatha was a splendid teacher. Minerva had even been thinking about asking her to assume the job of Transfiguration teacher while Minerva cared for little Freya. Or they could share the job. At first she had intended to make use of the house-elves, with some of them more than eager to play nurse. However, with every passing week of her pregnancy she felt closer to the little girl in her womb and didn't want to miss a single hour of her growing up.

Thinking about Freya, there was something else she wanted to address while she had the chance to do so. Minerva looked around. They were sitting in one of the side rooms connected to the Great Hall. It offered seats and tables for around twenty people. The room was certainly cosier than the Great Hall, often used for little parties and since Minerva's return she had chosen it for her meals, usually with some of her colleagues and friends for company. Today she was sitting between Emma Granger and Petunia Evans, both ladies looking amused about the antics of the one and only Sirius Black and his girlfriend Carmen.

_They look happy_, Minerva mused. _And he looks healthier and less haunted. She is good for him_.

Sirius and Carmen were officially an item now and Minerva wondered if he would propose to her in the near future. Only yesterday the beautiful and spirited Spanish Auror told her that she had been stationed at Britain on a permanent basis, meant to be some kind of a liaison officer between Spanish and British DMLE. Similar jobs had been offered to Aurors from France and Denmark, while Italy, Greek, Portugal and – surprisingly – the Czech Republic and Poland expressed their interest as well. It seemed like the working plane far below the aloof ICW politics had started to create something their superiors could only dream of: cooperation.

"And you're feeling alright with Dan's plans?" Petunia just asked.

"Yes," Emma said with a soft smile. "He really liked the land and the people down there. We want to wait till Hermione has finished her education, but we fully intend to live in Sudan for a while after that. Apropos: we planned to visit Meryem and Jerome this Christmas – flee the cold British weather and all. Do you want to come along? You could certainly use some sun on your pale skin."

"I'm not pale," Petunia looked down. She actually wasn't, as she liked spending the odd hours at the Greenhouse, learning more about the plants and herbs from Madam Sprout. It was certainly quite a change to her usual brainy work.

"Dudley could come along as well," Emma offered. "It would certainly be an interesting experience for him."

Petunia looked doubtful. "I would like to come, but I'm not certain about Dudley," she sighed. "In his last letter he asked if he could visit his girlfriend's family this Christmas." She hated the thought of spending Christmas on her own.

"We could ask him on Minerva's birthday party," Emma suggested. While it was Minerva's party, it had been the quartet, with the help of some teachers, who prepared everything so far.

Petunia nodded slowly. "Yes, Harry invited him. 'Dudley and guest', but I don't expect him to bring her, Statute of Secrecy and all."

"Seems to get serious with the two of them, if he's even meeting her parents already," Emma smiled.

Petunia nodded with a small frown. "And he still didn't introduce her to me. I don't even know her name."

"At least he's doing well at school."

"Yes, she's a good influence." Petunia sighed again. "They grow up so fast. And I would like to accompany you."

.

"I want to visit Molly today," Minerva told Hermione and Neville a little later. The teachers had departed for their lessons and Harry used the chance to abduct Daphne for a little stroll around the Lake.

"Perhaps you could accompany Daphne," Hermione suggested. "She's there every day to have a look at her progress. Apparently it's looking good so far, but Molly will still need more time for her recovery." Like Minerva, Hermione felt torn about the former Weasley Matriarch. Molly had been wrong about many things, her unfaltering adoration of Albus Dumbledore only being one point of many. How she treated Ginny two years ago and the whole 'getting her daughter married to Harry' matter was one ugly experience after the next. She even had been okay with using potions and compulsion charms to take Harry away any chance at deciding about his own life, the same she tried with Hermione and Ron for a while.

All those actions certainly made her hated by Minerva and Hermione. However, both women had big caring hearts and knowing that Molly nearly died put a stopper on their boiling tempers. It certainly helped to know that Molly had meant well, had only wished for her big happy Weasley family to grow and to well. Molly was the paragon mother hen, complete with faults and the overwhelming coddling, but she wasn't a bad woman, only misguided. Perhaps now, with the experience of the brain operation and near death, she would see the light, even if it was too late for a complete reconciliation with her family.

"I'll think about it," Minerva said with a nod. "And I wanted to ask you something." Minerva breathed deeply and kneaded her hands. "You know, I won't be the youngest mother around." Hermione started to interject but Minerva stopped it. "You know I'm right. While it happens that witches my age become a mother, it is quite rare. Straight off I only remember Griselda Marchbanks and Harry's grandma who were around my age at giving birth to their sons." Hermione didn't know about that part but remembered how Sirius once told her that James Potter's parents had been somewhat older. "I want to have someone in Freya's life, someone I trust, with both the intelligence and the morals to guide her. Because of that I wondered if you both would agree to become her godparents. Agatha and Roxanne already offered to help as well, especially when you'll be living in Sudan, but I want you to be her legal godparents."

"Are you sure?" Hermione wondered, looking and feeling a little shocked, while her eyes betrayed her pride to be asked.

Neville however simply stepped forward and hugged Minerva with a wide smile on his face, much to Minerva's shock. "Sure we will. We would be happy and honoured." He rolled his eyes at Hermione "As if anybody else would be imaginable to become her godmother. You'll be wonderful. And it will give you some experience before we start our own family." Hermione blushed cutely and Minerva looked amused and very relieved.

"Did you know," Neville asked with a grin "that she already got something for our first daughter from Matron Mathilda?" This statement earned him a nudge into his ribs – neither the first nor the last one this morning.

.

_**Somewhere in Eastern Europe – same time**_

.

"Everything ready for the master's return?" Antonin Dolohov asked, glaring at his underling.

The man gulped. "The teams are in position. We've prepared a couple of attacks on public targets that will certainly draw the Aurors' attention. They won't know what hit them."

"Make certain that we have minimal losses." Dolohov's order surprised the man but it made sense. They had lost far too many men in the last year, and had barely been able to compensate for that with fresh blood. Most of the newbies weren't very experienced and no match one-on-one against the better trained Auror teams. It didn't help that the Death Eaters still abstained from using Muggle weapons while the Aurors had no such restrictions. There was still that horror story circulating about an Irish Auror taking down one of Fenrir's werewolves, using his silenced sniper rifle and a silver bullet while his target never had a chance to even know he was there.

They had to be careful and stingy with their men's lives – a huge difference to how those men had been treated in the past, with more often than not the death toll increasing after a failed raid for reasons of "punishment and encouragement". As an afterthought he added: "and give Fenrir the most dangerous mission." He wanted to get rid of the wolf if possible, or at least to weaken his power base before their master's awakening.

"What about that man Madam Guille sent?" Dolohov asked.

"Viktor? He arrived at Britain already, we don't know how. He's waiting for the master's arrival in one of our lairs."

"And his… package?" The man hadn't to know about the host body or the Horcrux – the last Horcrux still existing. His men had only been informed that Viktor had something in his possession, an item more precious than the messenger's life itself.

"He hid it somewhere, we don't know the place, but it's presumably save" the man shrugged. He didn't like the man and was unable to see what was so special about him. He was only a Vampire, slave to another Vampire that was dead now, according to rumours. So why the fuss?

Dolohov sighed, relieved that something had gone right after all. "So, tell me about the raids you prepared for today."

Soon the master would be in Britain again.

.

_**Somewhere in the Far East**_

.

Millie grunted angrily as the heel of Tam Lian's right foot connected with her lower ribs. She made a single step back to recover from the impact, while blocking the follow-up spin-kick with her left forearm. It hurt, this not being the first attack that hit her arm.

"You're still blocking too much and not dodging enough," Lian scolded her.

Tam Lian was a younger cousin of Zejie and Zeli. She met Millie the first time, as the burly girl accompanied Luna to the house Aunt Hui inhabited. Lian was Hui's friend, her housekeeper and bodyguard, all in one. Her English was impeccable as she had spent three years in Australia to get her Bachelor in Economics. At the beginning, she had been angry with Luna because she had been the reason for Voldemort being hidden in China under her clan's care. So many clansmen had died defending it. However, Aunt Hui's soft-spoken words and Luna's guilt-ridden eyes had been enough to convince her that only one man was to blame for this: Voldemort.

Millie jumped in the air to avoid a low foot-sweep, instantly counterattacking with a kick of her own. It even connected with Lian's chest, if barely. "Better," Lian applauded "far better."

She had been training the burly girl for the last three days while Luna spent her time with Aunt Hui doing things that only Hui and Luna really understood.

_Those two are made for each other,_ Millie thought, glancing at the weird duo. She was a tad sad that Luna didn't rely on her moral support like she expected her to do at the start of their voyage. On the other hand she was happy that Luna wasn't as guilt-ridden and depressed anymore. The days she spent in China were really helping her.

Another kick, this one hit her full force and sending her sprawling on the ground. It really hurt and this time Millie needed a few moments to recover. "You should concentrate on me, not on her," Lian scolded angrily. "She is doing fine." Noticing the sad look, she continued a tad softer: "your simple presence is helping her. You're grounding her. It's similar between Aunt Hui and me – only without the snogging," she cackled. Millie blushed. The girls had become more outgoing with their kissing and groping; and Lian really liked to tease them about it.

"You want to be able to defend her, don't you?"

Millie nodded with determination in her eyes.

"Then up and concentrate."

Millie complied. Nobody would hurt her little girl.

.

"Did you know that Lian means 'graceful willow'?" Aunt Hui asked.

"No," Luna responded, narrowing her eyes and watching the girl. At first glance the name was a silly one. Lian was built similarly to Millie: broad shoulders, huge chest and legs, strong arms and muscles meant to break wooden beams with bare hands. Certainly not what the girl's parents had in mind as they named her; it was very unlike to the Chinese graces you saw on TV doing dances and all.

"But I can see it," Luna commented after a while. "Her soul has the same grace that is growing in Millie's heart."

"It is," Aunt Hui smiled. She had loved and respected Luna's mother, and she felt the same with the girl. It was a kind of spiritual kinship that made them closely-connected, despite the thousands of miles distancing them most of the time. "Being near you is helping Millie's soul grow even stronger. You're good for each other."

"That we are," Luna smiled, watching her girlfriend dreamily, promising herself to have same quality time later. "That we certainly are."

.

_**Somewhere in England**_

.

She looked up from her Chemistry book to have a glance at her boyfriend. She smiled softly. He was so cute when he did this 'tip of the tongue' thing while working fully concentrated. They had stopped their snogging session to get some work done, but she had promised him a second, more intense round later.

Dudley was a very tender and considerate lover. While they hadn't gone the full distance so far – something she expected to happen before the school year ended and had been preparing for – he had certainly seen more of her body than any other boy. The same counted for him. Dudley was a surprisingly shy boyfriend, a far cry from his usual, boisterous self, and she liked that side, liked it very much. She was falling hard for him, she had realized these past weeks.

Her homework long forgotten, she thought about how they met for the first time. Two boys had been teasing her because of her father. She, being the shy and quiet girl she had always been, tried to dodge them. However, they continued to harass her and in the end even tossed her books down into the mud. Dudley had jumped to her defence, and while she would have preferred a more peaceful solution, he knocking down both boys had done the job as well. It had been cute how he helped her up and blushed immensely as she caught him glancing down her cleavage. He had stuttered an apology and tried to shrink away. In an unsurpassed moment of spontaneity and instinctive acting, she asked him to carry her books home. It ended in her inviting him for a cup of tea and their first kiss. It had simply clicked between them.

The boys hadn't harassed her anymore, especially not after it became known that Dudley was her boyfriend now. While that hadn't been her reason for choosing him, it was certainly a nice side effect of their relationship.

She looked down as something fluttered to the ground, a letter as it seemed. Dudley didn't seem to notice, so she left her place and picked it up. Apparently it was some kind of greeting card or invitation. She turned the letter around, her eyes widening as she noticed the sender.

"Harry Potter?"

Dudley looked up "Huh?"

She waved the letter. "Yes, he invited me to a party."

"You know Harry Potter?" The name wasn't too rare but still.

"Yeah," Dudley nodded. "He's my cousin, you remember? The one growing up with me."

Dudley had told her about the boy, and perhaps he even mentioned the name Harry once or twice. She never got the connection however, as she somehow always assumed it was 'Harry Evans'. "You never mentioned his last name," she said with a frown.

"It never came up." Only now did he notice her pale look. "Something on your mind?" She was still staring at the letter. "Do you know him as well?"

She sat down on another chair, agitated and obviously nervous about something. So he knew about her world. Dudley wasn't a wizard, she would have noticed, but he knew magic. She could tell him. Should she tell him about her past?

"Honeypot?"

She looked up and glared, knowing full well that he only used that disgusting nickname to get her attention. He looked awful pleased of himself right now, but still there was concern in his eyes. "What is on your mind?" He asked with a caring voice.

She breathed deeply. _You can do this_. "Dudley, there is something I have to tell you…"

.

_**London – St. Mungo's – still 28**__**th**__** of September**_

.

Minerva felt a little ridiculous with Harry playing the gentleman, offering his arm and all while leading her towards the hospital. Daphne was following them with little Lina at her side and did a poor job at hiding her amusement. The couple had been delighted about hearing Minerva's plans to have Hermione and Neville becoming little Freya's godparents. Neville would be a wonderful father figure and Hermione was very similar to Minerva, with her new-found playful side certainly helpful when caring for a little girl. Daphne couldn't wait to see the young couple spending time with a child. While she had no doubt about having children on her own later, she had a feeling that Neville and Hermione would reach that point sooner than Harry and her.

They passed the door and Harry nodded towards one of the security men stationed there. "Hello, Joseph, everything alright with your family?"

"Everything wonderful," the man's face split into a broad grin. "Thank you for asking."

Joseph, one of the many Werewolves that joined the Treskow clan this year, had quit his steady but boring and ill-paid warehouse job to join a newly founded security company. It was owned by Gringotts and the team was made up of a mix of Squibs, Wizards, Werewolves and a number of Goblins. The Squibs often had been chosen for unusual skills, promoting a synergy between magic and Muggle technology. The Wizards had been handpicked and had to subscribe long-term contracts, but got rare education in ward-creating and breaking in exchange. The Goblins were mostly coordinating and administering, but a few worked in the field as well, often wearing special rings to hide their race.

And the Werewolves, like Joseph, had been chosen to strengthen the team because of their senses. Right now Daphne noticed the man sniff her, ascertaining that it was really her and not some imposter. She was quite certain that he would immediately inform the in-house team about their arrival as well. "And good luck with your cub, Ma'am," he wished Minerva.

The world really was changing, and in Daphne's mind for the better.

.

"Everybody in position," the smaller man informed his ill-humoured leader.

He acknowledged it with a curt nod only and gestured towards the entrance. "Those security men are new." Two weeks ago there had only been a single Auror guarding the entrance. He didn't like changes and this one was especially unwelcome. It was widely known that Minister Fudge had used a part of the Carrow wealth to donate money to the hospital, but nobody had informed him that a tenth of that money had been used to tighten the security. The hospital was a very public and soft target, one sure to draw the DMLE's attention very fast. Public pressure would force the DMLE to increase security around the hospital, with every Auror stationed here meaning there were less for guarding the magical routes into Great Britain.

Exactly that was the aim of his little raid: create havoc and fear.

"Take a couple of our men from the backup team and create a diversion at the side entrance. Hopefully they'll send some of their men over there, opening the way for me." The raid's leader had chosen the most important but presumably quite safe job for his own team: storm the reception, kill some patients and nurses while shutting down the floo system, long-term if possible, to delay the arrival of reinforcements.

"We'll attack in an hour."

.

Minerva was waiting in the corridor, not too far away from a very quiet Ron Prewitt. Harry and Lina were sitting at her side, while Daphne had entered Molly's room some time ago with Healer Rosmelda Prewitt hot on her heels.

"Do you think she's really strong enough for a visitor?" Minerva asked, sounding a little concerned.

Harry nodded. "Daphne told me she is far better now. She'll stay at the hospital for another two weeks to make certain there aren't any complications, but all seems well so far. The operation was quite a success, apparently."

"I still can't believe that nobody noticed before."

Harry shrugged. "Healer Prewitt said the disease is really rare and difficult to detect. I assume Molly's former healer always thought it to be some kind of migraine."

"I'm relieved that Daphne and the others were able to help her."

"I am as well," Harry agreed. "I'm not happy with how she handled things with Ginny, and I don't like how she believed Dumbles to be some kind of god for a long time," he glanced towards Minerva, realizing that his House Head had shared that opinion for quite some time. "But she seems to be coming around. And while I can't say many good things about Dumbles, he was right on one thing at least."

"Second chances?" Minerva guessed.

"Second chances," Harry agreed. _But only second chances, and only if someone showed the honest wish to change. We'll see if this is the case with Molly_.

.

"You may come in now, Minerva," Daphne opened the door and waited for Minerva to enter. "I'll be in the cafeteria with Harry, if you need me." Molly and Minerva didn't really hear her however, both women staring at each other in utter silence.

Daphne left the room, closed the door and walked towards Harry, linking arms with her friend and dragging him towards the cafeteria. As they passed Ron, she stopped shortly and eyed Harry warily. He had a stony expression as he watched his former friend. Daphne sighed. She hated doing this but had the feeling she simply had to. "Come on, Ron."

The boy had tried to ignore them so far, the reasons clearly being more guilt and shame than anger. Now he looked up, utter unbelief in his eyes. "Come," Daphne repeated, nodding down the corridor. "Your mother will be safe." She forced a smile: "Time for a little talk."

.

"How are you doing?" Molly asked with a weak voice. She looked down at Minerva's stomach. "And little Freya?" Molly looked a little pale and weak, but she mostly she seemed… different: softer mostly and calmer. Perhaps her behaviour was really a result of her disease.

"_I assume she has been in pain for a long time," Daphne had explained only yesterday. "It certainly wasn't the sole reason for her past behaviour, but it influenced it. I imagine it made her more stubborn, short-tempered and aggressive. Hopefully she'll change for the better now." _

The story about Freya's fate had done far more to change her mind than anything else. She had known about Minerva's former pregnancy twenty years ago, had been pregnant as well back then. Percy had been born only a couple of weeks after the accident. _Accident_, Molly sobbed silently. _How could he do this to a mother? The great Albus Dumbledore killing a helpless child. Great – fuck you and burn in hell. _Luckily her children didn't hear her swear like this. They would have been shocked.

"Shouldn't I be asking you this?" Minerva answered softly.

"I'm okay, all things considered. I'm still on headache potion but the pressure is gone. It had always been there, like someone was giving me a headlock."

"And your memory?"

"Better," Molly smiled weakly. "Sometimes I've problems to remember names, and sometimes I have bouts of…" She waved distractedly.

"Inattentiveness?" Daphne had mentioned it.

"Yes, something like that," Molly nodded. "It's getting better, every day a little bit more."

"I'm sorry…" Minerva stopped, unsure how to continue. Sorry about everything that happened? Sorry about Molly's disease? Or sorry that she had to kill Molly's false god?

"I'm sorry, too." Molly stopped her softly. She sighed deeply and there was a deep sadness in her eyes. "It will never again be as it was." It was a statement, not a question.

"No, it won't," Minerva agreed. There was no sense in lying to spare her. Arthur would never take her back, and most of her boys were barely polite towards her for now. The operation had proven that they still cared for her despite their anger, but there would never again be that whole happy Weasley family. "But perhaps we could be friends again. I would like to forget the past and start anew. What do you think, Molly?"

Molly was silent for a long time. Minerva was already thinking that she would reject her offer, as Molly sat up a little and offered her hand. "I'm Molly Prewitt, happy to meet you."

.

"How are you?" Daphne started. Harry hadn't said a word and silently sipped his tea, but at least he didn't object to her peace-making attempt.

Ron fidgeted a bit, before he answered with a low voice. "Better now." He offered a little proud smile. "Did you know I got my OWL?"

"That's splendid." And it really was, as it meant he was allowed to keep his wand and had a chance at getting a real job. "And how did you do?"

"Alright," he shrugged, breaking into another smile, more open and toothy this time. "I got EEs in Charms and Creatures Care, and a couple of As."

"That's great," and for the first time Harry nodded to Daphne's words. It was certainly better than expected.

"Yeah, Jospeh… I mean Mister Hardigan, he did really well. You know how much Hermione…" He stopped shortly "…had to nag me in the past getting me doing my homework and all. Mister Hardigan did a real good job at that."

"And what are you doing now?" Harry asked, showing his interest more open. He really didn't want to lose his old friend completely. They had been close mates for years, nearly brothers. But he was unsure if he ever could forgive him for what he had done in Hogsmeade. Ron had never apologized and in Harry's eyes this would have been a first step at least.

"I'm at one of the smaller schools. They don't have really NEWT classes there, but Mister Hardigan organized two advanced classes. If everything goes alright, I'll take my NEWTs in Charms and Creatures in two years. And after that…" He hesitated again and sighed. "I want to work at a dragon reserve later. Charlie… he doesn't want me in Romania, but there is a smaller one in Ireland and another in Norway. He promised to speak with them if I get EEs in my NEWTs."

"I'm sure you will," Harry assured his former friend. "You aren't dumb; you only ever had problems with your eagerness to learn."

"Yeah," Ron admitted. "You can say that again."

They stayed at the cafeteria for a while more, but it was Ron's last sentence that made the most impression. "I was wrong, Daphne, about you I mean. You aren't evil. Thank you for helping mum."

Daphne nodded only, not knowing how to answer right now. Perhaps it really was a first step.

.

"What was that?" Harry's head whipped around and he faced where the sudden noises came from.

"Sounds like a battle," Daphne responded, throwing a concerned look towards Minerva. They had finished their visit and were now on their way to the exit already, planning to use the floo at the reception to get back to Hogwarts.

"You'll carry on," Harry commanded Minerva sternly, not missing a beat because he just ordered around his House Head. "Bring her back safely, Lina."

Lina nodded and grabbed Minerva's hand, not waiting for her response, and dragging her towards the reception. In the meantime, Harry charged down the corridor, not even trying to convince Daphne to accompany Minerva. She wouldn't comply, as he knew all too well. At least she was staying behind him, trusting him to protect her like she would have his back.

The noises got louder as they neared the side entrance, and suddenly flashes of light illuminated the corridor. A spell blasted a hole into a wall and someone shrieked in the adjoining room. As Harry rounded the corner, a buckler shield spell protecting his head and chest, he saw three of the security men locked in battle with some thugs, one of them being Joseph. While two of the attackers wore Death Eater outfits, the rest of them seemed to be paid wands only, barely able to hit a door in front of them. It was only this fact that allowed the guards to survive these eight to three odds for so long.

Harry took the first thug down before they even realized that help had arrived. One of the security men made the error of looking over his shoulder. The distraction cost him dearly as one of the Death Eaters caught him with a cutting curse. Harry cursed and forced the man into cover with a flurry of spells. Daphne waved her wand for a complicated spell and sent it down the floor, missing each and every fighter on its path. Harry had barely time to wonder about it, before a show of light, noises and heat filled the corridor behind the opposing team. A full-grown dragon filled it, barely fitting into the corridor. Its roar filled the air as did its breath moments later. While their minds realized that this had to be an illusion, their cowardice forced the thugs into cover, especially as the breath – while not setting them on flames as a real dragon breath would – actually had some force behind it and was hot enough to be uncomfortable.

It certainly accomplished its task and distracted them long enough to allow Harry, Daphne and the duo of still fighting security men to take four of them down, with only Harry using deathly force against one of the Death Eaters. The surviving one – not liking the sudden Four to Three odds – sounded the retreat. Harry snarled as he noticed this. He wouldn't allow this to happen. Ordering one of the guards to protect Daphne while she cared for the wounded, he charged down the corridor, Joseph following him. He was on the hunt.

_You'll pay for attacking a hospital. _

.

The first sign of something being amiss was the feeling of being watched. For a second Minerva thought she saw a silhouette in the corner of her eye. Then there was that mad cackle. She remembered it, was certain having heard it in the past already. She shook her head to clear her mind.

_Imagination only._

The second sign was the body of a nurse lying on the ground. She was bleeding freely from a deep cut in her abdomen. She looked dead, but Minerva wasn't certain about it. Minerva immediately went to the rescue, hoping beyond hope that she could still do something for the nurse.

_Who would attack a nurse?_

The third sign answered her silent question, when a couple of men came into sight. Some of them started to blast the floo system away, others cut down nurses and patients alike, while three of them turned towards Minerva and Lina. All of them wore Death Eater garment and looked eager to kill. As one of them pointed his wand towards Minerva, he found himself thrown against the wall by a fuming hill-elf. Seconds later Minerva started to exchange spells with the rest. The pair was no real match for her, despite the pregnancy slowing her down and making her less reckless. Minerva was slowly fighting them back step by step, with Lina distracting them by sending all kind of chairs, flower vases and other loose things flying their way.

Minerva had just put one in a body bind and knocked the other one out, when the first Death Eater had recovered enough from his wall impact to hit Lina with a bone-breaker. Minerva's little friend tumbled to the ground and the next Reducto would have hit her chest without Minerva's interference. She summoned a stone slab into the line of fire and increased its size the next moment to put Lina behind a full-sized cover. The tiny elf looked badly hurt, a part of her chest caved in and a couple of ribs spearing through the skin. She needed help and fast, but Minerva had her own problems now.

The rest of the attack team had apparently noticed that two of them had been put down, with a third barely able to defend against Minerva's renewed attacks. The Head of Gryffindor was furious now. How dared they injure Lina like this? She was her friend. Minerva had no problems to admit this. She had grown very fond of the little elf had. She couldn't lose her to this disgusting…

Minerva barely dodged another attack as several more Death Eaters joined the fight. She put one down with a headshot, more out of luck than anything else. Another one set the reception desk on fire to destroy the sole cover in sight, while the rest increased their attacks against her. The fight was slowly wearing her down and thick pearls of sweat were covering her forehead.

_And Harry assumed I would be safe around here._

Then it happened awfully fast. Two of her opponents nailed her down while the third – a Death Eater in his forties who had lost his mask and whom she hazily remembered from the first war – sent a curse towards her stomach. It wasn't the emerald green of a Death Curse but his face left no doubt that his intent was to kill her baby, her little Freya.

"Don't!"

The screeching voice stopped everybody in his tracks, as did the sight of the small person that become visible in front of Minerva, stopping the lethal curse like she was catching a thrown apple. She glared at the culprit.

"How dare you attack my goddaughter!"

"Gwrach?" Minerva wondered in utter shock, feeling like fainting with relief. Now she remembered where she had heard that cackle the last time.

"Cut her down!" The culprit yelled and opened fire again, hitting the hag in the middle of her chest with his curse. Gwrach barely flinched, looking amused and a little annoyed at their audacity, her expression only deepening as the other two Death Eaters joined the attack. They were so concentrated on Gwrach y Rhibyn that Minerva could have knocked them out without effort. However, she was too exhausted and relieved, the shock of nearly losing her girl now kicking in completely. Her knees buckled and she would have fallen to the ground without the cosy armchair suddenly appearing behind her. Only now did Gwrach turn around and for a second Minerva saw real concern in her eyes, before turning once again into cruel mischief.

Two more spells hit her side and back. Gwrach shuddered a little bit and cackled. "That tickles." The Death Eaters froze, unbelieving. Without waiting for them to recover, Gwrach flicked her hands and all three fighters stiffened, shackled by Gwrach's magic. It looked like a thin sheet of ice was covering them completely.

"Can't you take better care of my goddaughter?" Gwrach fumed in Minerva's direction. Minerva had no energy to spare for an answer but gestured towards Lina.

"Please help her."

Gwrach snarled something like "worthless house-elf scum" but wobbled towards Lina, for now completely ignoring the helpless Death Eaters. Minerva kept a wary eye on them but they didn't budge so far.

"I'm a hill-elf not a house-elf, you ugly bitch," Lina growled back, raising a rare smile from the hag.

"You have spirit, I give you that," Gwrach growled. "But I only do this because you tried to defend my goddaughter." The healing appeared very painful but effective. The ribs vanished behind the skin and Lina's chest looked fine again. She was however still in pain, something Gwrach ignored as she addressed her three prisoners. She was actually skipping now and rubbing her hands in glee.

"Splendid, splendid," she cackled. "Three new souls for my collection."

Minerva was certain that the Death Eaters would have fainted without the magical ice keeping them upright. Gwrach wasn't called the "death hag of the moor" for nothing.

"You can't do that, Gwrach," she declared calmly.

"Huh?" Gwrach stopped and glared at Minerva.

"Their souls," Minerva tried to placate her. "You can't simply imprison them." After their first meeting two months ago, Minerva had done a little reading about the hag. She remembered a chapter about rights and duties of the hag. For a moment she felt the Death Eaters relaxing.

"Oh but I can," the hag cackled. "Everything was in apple-pie order when they only attacked you and that worthless house … err … hill-elf." Lina glared despite her pain. Gwrach cackled. She really seemed to like Lina and Minerva wondered if that was a good or bad thing. Suddenly Gwrach's face hardened. "But then they attacked my goddaughter. Little Freya is under my protection. Attacking her with deathly force gives me the right to do with the attackers as I wish."

And her wish was clear. One of the Death Eaters lost control of his bladder and a second one actually fainted, Minerva however realized that this opportunity had been one of the reasons for Gwrach to declare Freya her goddaughter despite her erstwhile rejection at the trial. Soul-catching was her absolute favourite past-time. Gwrach was very protective of Freya and she just saved her life, but she was neither nice nor lacking in selfishness.

"Please don't," she pleaded now. "Don't let Freya be the reason for this."

Gwrach's frown deepened. "What good is a goddaughter for if you can't even get some souls out of the deal?"

"Friendship," Lina interjected. "Love. The knowledge to do the right thing. Happiness for knowing that you care for somebody," she continued, her words interrupted by a fit of painful coughing.

Gwrach stared at the hill-elf like she was completely mad, an utter contrast to the soft smile and teary eyes of Minerva. "You actually believe that," she realized and blinked several times.

"She is right, you know," Minerva agreed with Lina.

Gwrach raised her hands in a defeated manner. "Mad, you're all utterly mad. Alright, alright, this time I'll play nice, but next time will be pay time." She snapped her fingers again and all three Death Eaters simply vanished.

"Where are they now?" Minerva asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Around Hogwarts," Gwrach showed a toothy smile. It wasn't a nice sight.

"Alive?"

"For now," Gwrach shrugged. She stopped Minerva's protest coldly. "They have a chance to survive, that's more than they intended to give little Freya."

Minerva deflated. Gwrach was right. Those scumbags had really tried to kill her little girl. Her knees would have buckled at the thought without her already sitting. "And their souls?"

"Not in danger – for now."

.

_**Hogwarts – that evening**_

"Do you think this is wise?" Minerva asked with open concern in her voice. She had returned from St. Mungo's with Lina in tow, trusting Healer Jannis with her health far more than any healer at the hospital. The Greek Healer had accompanied her back from Iceland, spending most hours with the Hogwarts house-elves who were more than happy to help him with his examinations. Lina was already getting better and Jannis had promised her that her little friend would be alright again in a few days' time. "What if there are more attacks?"

After the horrid Death Eater attack on the hospital – which had only been one of many, even if the most public and numerous one – the Aurors had increased security all over the land and advised the public to stay at home if they didn't have urgent business to attend. Hermione Granger however wasn't willing to hear of it. "I won't allow some Death Eater scum to dictate my life," she growled. "I planned to go to that reading for weeks and I will."

Minerva sighed, rolling her eyes. Sometimes it was really exhausting to be Hermione's friend. On the other hand, this stubbornness and willingness to fight for what she believed in had been one of the reasons in choosing her for becoming Freya's godmother. Neville shrugged and smiled weakly. He hadn't even tried to convince her otherwise, and in the end he was eager himself to meet that author. It was an old friend of Luna's father, some expert on Brazilian flora and fauna, willing to speak in front of an interested audience about his latest expedition. Xenophilius Lovegood would be there, today without his daughter who was still somewhere in China. Colin Creevey had even been hired for some camera action, as far as he knew.

"Hagrid will be there," he attempted to reassure Minerva, "As will a couple of older students and assistant teachers."

"And my staunch knight and hero will be there to defend me," Hermione added with a broad smile, linking arms with Neville. "Nothing will happen to us."

_Famous last words._

.

_**London – Diagon Alley – a little bit later**_

.

They walked down Diagon Alley, taking in the changes in the atmosphere all around. Some shop keepers had closed their doors and barricaded them, while others apparently decided to take a stand. Fortescue served ice for free tonight. Aurors were patrolling the streets. Neville noticed at least two sharpshooters on the roofs. He assumed Amelia asked the French DMLE for assistance in getting them. Regretfully there wouldn't be any Werewolves from the Treskow clan around, as it was a Full Moon night. _Full Moon_ – Neville glanced towards Hermione in slight panic. Did she notice? It was already getting dark and the moon was rising onto the sky.

"I noticed," Hermione reassured him calmly, pushing a small bag into his hands. "It's the main reason I wanted to go. These are a dozen vials with the new Wolfcure potion from Professor Snape to distribute."

Wolfcure – Neville remembered Hermione and Daphne speaking with Professor Snape about it. He had been working on something for the past year, funded by Agatha Pinegrew. So far he hadn't found a real solution. Wolfcure was more like a vaccine. It had to be taken within 12 to 24 hours before the bite or within one to three hours afterwards to be of any use. The closer to the biting time it was given, the higher the chance not to be turned into a Werewolf. _I should have guessed she had another reason going there_, Neville mused.

They passed the pair of Aurors guarding "Flourish and Blotts" and entered the shop. The main room had been mostly emptied to make space for around fifty seats. A special, very sturdy one had its place at the back. Hagrid was sitting there and happily waving towards them. At his side was a highchair, looking a little like those for toddlers, meant to give Colin a better overview. He was grinning madly, really enjoying the fact that he had been chosen as the photographer of the evening. A little more serene Percy Weasley and Penelope Clearwater nodded towards the couple. They had offered to accompany a couple of students – mostly Ravenclaws – to the reading. Only those which proof of their parental consent had been allowed to go. The Quibbler wasn't the same as it was two years ago. Despite it still publishing quite some weird stories in every edition, there had been far too many incredible articles since the quartet cooperated with the Lovegoods for it to be a joke anymore, and the circulation had more than quadrupled since then.

A few minutes later Xeno Lovegood and his guest entered, and the show began.

.

Neville decided that he really liked George Miller. The little man, despite his very normal name, was anything but. Short, bald, and looking like he belonged into a library and not the Brazilian jungle. He was an overexcited little fellow who obviously loved the wilderness and had a broad knowledge about the plants and animals of the area, both mundane and magical. Hermione was scribbling madly notes into her little book and Neville had already filed away a couple of book names for later perusal. Even Xeno Lovegood's sometimes a little weird comments didn't baffle him tonight.

It was a really nice evening among friends - at least until the screaming started.

From one moment to the next pure pandemonium erupted in the cosy room, as one of the guarding Aurors was pushed through a window into the shop. An enraged Werewolf was clawing at him, the cut in his shoulder – a result from a cutting curse the Auror had been able to cast before being tackled by his opponent – healing awfully fast. A second Werewolf tried to climb through the window, but was stopped by a silver bullet from the sharpshooter across the street. However, more of his brethren followed, causing absolute chaos in the room, as children tried to get out of the way and some of the adults pulled their wand out. They had to take the Werewolves down and fast, else even Snape's potions wouldn't be nearly enough.

.

Fenrir Greyback and Finley chose the backdoor to enter the shop. They madly enjoyed the utter shock of a mother trying to rescue her children right that way, only to meet her toothy doom. Fenrir pushed the mother towards Finley while he grabbed a child with each hand. Lifting the screaming and helpless victims of his mad hunger, he took a bite from each one as if they were some kind of candy. Soon they would be his. He simply let them drop, shock immediately settling in as they cowered on the ground. Their mother didn't stop screaming, something that annoyed Finley a bit. He would have preferred a different sequence of this evening's events, but Fenrir had been against Finley's preferred "torture, blackmail and rape" pastime – at least for tonight. So he simply killed the poor woman and tossed her bloody and bleeding corpse between her crying children. Screaming, teary-eyed children – now that was a sight he liked.

"Get him!" Fenrir ordered, pointing towards the highchair. Colin Creevey and Luna Lovegood had been surprisingly high on the Dark Lord's hit-list because of their successful articles. "I want his head and his camera." Fenrir intended to offer them to his Dark Lord as a welcoming gift. Finley grinned. The boy was looking like a "chicken roasted on a spit", sitting there on his chair, taking snapshots like mad. Finley rushed along the wall towards his target, while Fenrir apparently had Lovegood senior in mind. Regretfully, the daughter wasn't in sight.

_Wait, little boy, the big bad wolf is coming. And you aren't Red Riding Hood._

.

Percy Weasley and Penelope Clearwater had gathered their wards behind them, doing their best to protect them. Their opponents proved to be extremely sturdy however and difficult to take down. Even combining their spellpower, they were barely able to push them back for more than a few seconds. The Werewolves behaved like mad – or on drugs.

Some of their wards had started to support the adults through battering the Werewolves with chairs and other things they sent flying their way. It certainly annoyed and distracted them. _At least they stayed behind and safe_, Penelope sighed silently. _Cheered too soon_, she noticed a minute later. She had just been able to knock a Werewolf down with a bone-breaker to his left leg, as one of her charges jumped the Werewolf, a broken chair leg in his hands.

"Michaels!"

_I should have known_, Penelope scolded herself. Since he learned about the fate of his sister Charlotte, he hadn't been the same. Now he was pounding the Werewolf, using the leg like an oversized dagger, pushing it into his chest and neck again and again. With a deep growl the Werewolf tossed him aside, clawing him but at least not taking a bite. Michaels crumpled to the floor, barely conscious from the impact. The Werewolf got up and tried to finish him off, only to be cut down by a barrage of spells, cast by Penny and Percy as well as all five students.

_You won't get him, _noticing quite well that Michaels looked a little disappointed_. I have to speak with him about this – later._

.

Hermione was doing her best to protect the other guests of the reading. Using a little bit of air magic, she rose five feet among the rest, both making her a visible target and allowing her a better view. One of the Werewolves actually tried to tackle her, only to learn that the howling winds surrounding her weren't for show only. They easily battered him aside, stunning him long enough to make him an easy target for her special way of fighting:

Take a magical dagger, present of Charley Weasley and Fleur Delacour.

Use a little bit of wind and a good aim.

Combine both et voila: a newly impaled Werewolf. _Try to heal this, bugger_.

Neville had only a few moments to admire her, hoping that Colin was able to get a few good snapshots of his beloved Hermione in action, before he hasted towards Xeno and George. He assumed that they were the main targets of this attack, and the sudden appearance of Fenrir Greyback proved him right. Using his stone-armoured fists to pound a lower-echelon Werewolf, Neville eyed the pack-leader warily. Fenrir Greyback was quite a different calibre to the other Werewolves. Even the Treskows would be hard pressed to put him down. This didn't mean he was willing to sacrifice Luna's father to the mad wolf. Luna would be heard broken. He couldn't allow this to happen.

Ignoring the bloody Werewolf to his feet, Neville invoked his animalistic side. Within moments and before the charging Fenrir had a chance to reach him, fur covered his body and his hand turned into mighty paws. Being no fragile owl or nimble Wyvern but a bear-formed battering ram, Neville didn't have to make compromises as he protected his shoulders and neck with thick plates of stone. Fenrir's claws caused a screech as they danced over the stone, one of the claws actually breaking from the unexpected impact. The pack leader grunted as one of Neville's paws hit his chest, nearly breaking a rib. Several times Fenrir attempted to get around the boy and have a bite at Lovegood or Miller. Every time Neville wouldn't allow it to happen. Fenrir growled. He had to take this boy down first.

This promised to become a hell of a fight.

.

With wide eyes and unable to move, Colin let his camera sink and watched the Werewolf charge him. He didn't notice that his fingers continued to work, taking shot after shot of the gibbering, drooling death. Like most Werewolves, Finley wasn't really able to speak in Werewolf-form, but it was quite obvious that he promised Colin pain and death on his arrival. He jumped…

Only to get tossed aside by a mighty arm, bigger than any human had a right to have. It was no human however that had hit him, but the fist of an incredibly pissed off half-giant. Using his big umbrella like a club, Hagrid pounded Finley into the ground. Unknown to most, the umbrella had been reinforced by Harry and Neville some months ago, earth magic runes hardening the beautiful piece of work – beautiful at least in Hagrid's eyes – and the tip could be turned into a hardened blade, something Hagrid now made good use of. As Finley attempted to recover and get back on his feet, a shoe size 8XL hit his jaw, breaking it and sending him to the ground again. The same shoe was lowered on his chest a moment later, keeping him tight while Hagrid used the umbrella's tip-blade to vent his displeasure. A dozen times he stabbed Finley's chest and neck, the magic of the umbrella combined with his half-giant strength being enough to overcome the Werewolves regeneration ability.

Slowly it was dawning to Finley that he wouldn't survive the night.

Five seconds later, a big hand let go of the umbrella and grabbed Finley's neck. The last thing he heard was it breaking. A mother's death had been avenged.

.

_**Diagon Alley – not far away**_

.

She hated not to be a part of this, but tonight she was only a spectator like many others. The battle had died down and the medi-witches were doing their work.

"Are you alright?"

"Huh?" Bella looked up and stared the young Auror in the eye. There was no fear, or the panic she expected to see there, only concern and the sadness that came with having to watch people die. She needed a moment to remember: she wasn't Bella tonight. Thanks to a slimy trader and a little persuasion she looked like some elderly woman enjoying an evening stroll.

"Are you alright?" He looked her up and down, searching for any signs of her getting hurt. A dozen steps behind him his colleagues were still getting the injured and dead away. The attack had taken quite a toll on the community, despite the preparations and fast reactions: At least five dead and more than a dozen bitten. Bella despised Werewolves, thought of them as vicious, mindless beasts. However, even she had to admit that they did a splendid job at creating havoc and distracting the DMLE. Instead of guarding the magical frontier they were flooding Diagon Alley.

_The way is open for my Lord_, Bella smiled. The smile, usually enough to frighten grown Aurors like little children, actually placated the young man. He nodded curtly and walked away from the strange woman, searching for others who needed help.

_Welcome back to Great Britain._

.

She knew that face. Bella's eyes narrowed as she watched the young woman walk down the street with some of her colleagues.

_Nymphadora_ – she rolled the name on her tongue. Blood-traitor she was, double Blood-traitor even, if she believed the rumours about the girl being associated with that Werewolf. Her hand itched for her wand, to take this disgrace of the Black family down. Breathing deeply, Bella got herself under control again. She couldn't do this, not here and not now. _Perhaps never_, she sighed. Andi loved her daughter and killing the little bastard would break her heart. And her daughter was family as well. A Black didn't spill family blood. It was an iron law, had been one for centuries. It had been the reason Sirius had only been sent away after his betrayal. Other pureblood families like the Malfoys would have killed him off or at least disowned him, but not the Blacks.

_Shit, so no killing Nymphadora. Perhaps I can at least convince her to stay away from Lupin_, Bella mused_. And then there is Ted Tonks, _she grinned evilly. _He isn't a Black; I'm allowed to kill him. Andi will be heart-broken,_ Bella sighed. _She won't understand that it is to assure her safety. With Tonks out of the picture, the Dark Lord has less reason to kill Andi. It is for the best_.

_It is for the Greater Good … of the Black Family._

.

"_**Around Hogwarts" – same time**_

.

Slowly he came to his senses. _He was still alive_, he sighed with relief. Something bubbled. He had really expected to wake up utterly killed – if that made sense. _That ugly bitch_. Was it even allowed that a non-human had powers like that? _She'll pay_, he promised. _Next time_…

He stopped; suddenly remembering clearly how she simply soaked the curses they had sent her way. _"It tickles,"_ had been her only reaction. He shuddered. It bubbled again. _Where am I?_ He wondered. _Why can't I see more clearly?_ It was quite dark around him and everything was blurred and somehow looking odd.

He felt a movement behind him and whirled around. The motion was weird and slow. And it bubbled again. _How did I feel that?_ His eyes widened as he noticed the creature staring at him. Pale-green, with green and sharp looking teeth, the creature was eyeing him hungrily. _Grindylow_, he realized with a sneer. _Right in time for a little anger venting_, he growled, his hand going for his wand. He froze.

No wand.

No robe.

No hand.

The creature bared its green teeth, its body tensing for the jump.

_I'm a fish. I'm a bloody fish._

The Grindylow rushed in. Pure panic and animal instincts setting in, he jumped/swum whatever aside, those big teeth barely missing him, actually grazing one of his new-found fins.

Water rushed into his gills as he hurried away as fast as possible, his fish mouth wide open as he screamed in panic. Nobody heard him.

_It is cold down there. _

.

_**A/N**_

_**For the avoidance of doubt**__: yes, Andromeda Tonks died several months ago. Bella however doesn't know this. Narcissa never told her and it isn't mentioned in the actual newspaper. Everybody assumes that she knows, but she doesn't. _


	30. Chapter 30 A deep breath

**A deep breath**

.

_**Ministry of Magic – DMLE conference room – 1**__**st**__** of October**_

.

They were waiting for the arrival of Amelia Bones, sipping their tea and lazily watching Brychan Camwy as he prepared the magical map in the centre of the room. It showed Great Britain in great details, high-lighting the magical communities and a couple of locations of interest. Harry knew that they described the places were Death Eaters had been seen since the abduction of Voldy's statue. In addition there were quite a couple of marks for known or assumed lairs of his supporters.

For now however he was more interested in the newest Quibbler article. "Colin became really good at this 'taking photos under duress' thing." He showed Neville a series of photos, showing Hermione and him at Flourish and Blotts. Harry liked the one with Neville ripping Fenrir's left ear off very much, but Neville preferred the 'Hurricane Hermione' one.

"Yeah, he's a tad snap-happy," Neville grinned. His smile faltered as he continued. "Too bad Fenrir was able to get away." The fight had been furious and long-drawn-out. Neither warrior had been able to take the other down, and in the end the Werewolf fled as more and more of his men succumbed to the other defenders and more and more Aurors arrived on the battlefield, quite a few of them armed with silver-bullet weapons. At least he had been able to injure the pack-leader, even tearing off his left ear and nearly poking an eye out. Since the battle Neville had three angry lines on his lower chest where Fenrir's claws scratched him. He would wear them proudly for the rest of his life.

"Next time you'll get him," Harry declared calmly. He turned around and addressed one of the two Werewolves sitting in the room. "Jessica? Just for your information: you remember those two children that had been bitten at Flourish?"

"The ones who lost their mother?" She asked back.

"That's the ones," Harry nodded. "Apparently Snape's Wolfcure has been able to suppress the infection. They have to wait for the next full moon, but the healers are confident that they didn't catch Lycanthropy."

Jessica Treskow sighed with relief. She was present as Fabian Treskow's deputy, as he was still recovering from his last fight. "That's good to hear. I always hated Fenrir's craving to bite children."

"Yeah, it's disgusting," Harry agreed. "Apparently their grandfather is some bigwig over in Dublin. In gratitude for the healing of the children and to support this line of research, he consigned a _little _funding to Professor Snape."

"How little?" Jessica lifted a single eyebrow.

"250,000 galleons," Harry grinned.

"Even Professor Snape had a smile on his face as he read the note," Neville added. "It was only a small one, but still it was there."

A smaller sum had been sent to Hagrid together with a heart-felt thank-you-letter, as far as Harry and Neville knew. The family was grieving the loss of the children's mother but had been happy to hear that Hagrid avenged her death only minutes later. A series of photos in the Quibbler about him protecting children and taking down vicious Werewolves had done more to gain him good-will than years of working in silence at Hogwarts.

Yes, Colin's presence at the reading had really been a gift of god. And Harry was happy to see his name right under Xenophilius Lovegood in the listing of the Quibbler's owners. _Thank you, Dad_.

.

A few minutes later, Amelia Bones entered the room, the DMLE liaisons of Spain, Denmark and France close behind. She took a long look around the table, greeting some of the attendees with a few words or a curt nod.

The quartet was there, naturally, together with a couple of family members and friends. They would certainly play an important part in the upcoming battle, but be less involved with the search part.

Jessica Treskow was there for the Werewolf Clans, sitting side by side with Shaeffer, the French Vampire representing his community. Gringotts had sent Chief curse-breaker Tremors with Bill Weasley at his side. Between Bill and Harry, a seat was occupied by a dreamy-eyed blonde girl. Luna Lovegood had returned just the day before and agreed to play liaison to the Centaur clans at Magorian's request. While Emma Granger had been Hogwarts liaison to the Centaur clan of the Forbidden Forest, her Muggle nature put her at a clear disadvantage in the upcoming battle. There were a couple more attendees, representing this group or another, all willing to help with the search or the following battle. It certainly was an impressive gathering, the strongest she had ever been part of. She could only hope that it would be enough. First, however, they had to find the enemy. She addressed Brychan Camwy who had silently been waiting for her "go".

"Tell me what we know about Tom's whereabouts."

.

_**Hogwarts – same time**_

.

"Do you really wish so much to get turned into a Werewolf?" Penelope Clearwater had allowed the boy a few days' time to calm down after the fight, but now she wanted some answers. Her glare was enough to send the other 'Claws scrambling for the door, one of the benefits of being Snape's assistant.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Michaels pouted, not even looking up from his homework.

Today, however, Penelope wasn't in the mood for this bull. With a flick of her hand and a little wandless magic she tossed aside the table complete with books, scrolls and all. Michaels was stunned for a moment. Penelope Clearwater loved books, nearly as much as the Granger and Pinegrew girls. This was serious, but Michaels still was not ready to spill the beans. He leant back in his seat, his arms crossed in front of him and a pout on his face.

"I saw you," Penelope hissed. "I'm neither blind nor dumb."

"Nobody claimed such a thing," Michaels pouted.

"You're a clever boy, Michaels, one of the smartest in your year. You're too clever to attack a werewolf barehanded. You wanted to get bitten and I want to know why." Penelope naturally knew quite well of his reasoning, but she wanted him to admit it – for himself than anything else.

Michaels opened his mouth only to close it again without uttering a word.

"It's because of Charlotte, isn't it?" Penelope asked with a very soft voice.

Michaels gulped, fighting his tears, and losing badly. "She… she got turned because of me. Because they wanted to blackmail me, Fenrir abducted her. Without me she wouldn't be…" He was unable to continue for a while. Penelope waited patiently but a small frown appeared on her face. "She has no future anymore. She'll always be a second-class witch. She won't get a real job. If she finds somebody she loves, he won't spare her a look. She'll always have to be careful, to always remember her condition irrespective of what she does. She can never forget to drink her potion else she would risk biting others. I botched her life."

"You know," Penelope interjected. She had heard enough of this whiny nonsense. "You're an idiot."

Michaels stared at her completely flabbergasted.

"Times are changing. Yes, she has and will have to be careful. Yes, there will always be idiots thinking of her like an animal or worse. But still: since the Treskows, since the Goblins support Werewolves and since Amos Diggory got Head of the Creature Department, things started to change. Have you forgotten Remus Lupin? He has a job he loves and I'm certain there is a wedding in the near future with a woman he loves and that accepts his furry problem. Charlotte can have the same someday. I heard some good things about that Czech clan where she is living right now. According to rumours they can teach her how to feel one with her animal side. And Professor Snape is making great progress with his cure potion. One day she will be cured, I'm certain of this."

"But the next years…"

Penelope nodded. "The next months and years will be difficult. She has friends who'll help her. However, she'll need her brother as well. A supportive brother," she scolded "not some whiny boy willing to give up."

Michaels glared. Penelope liked the glare much better than the pout.

"Get a grip, Michaels. Help your sister, and no more of this 'it's my entire fault' nonsense. That is not helping anybody."

Michaels relaxed a little and sighed. After a moment of hesitation he nodded slowly. "I'll try."

Penelope smirked a very Snape smirk: "as a wise man once said: don't try. Simply do."

.

"_**Around Hogwarts" – same time**_

.

He had been in this blasted condition for three whole days. Miles Benedict, heir of the old and important Benedict family, was hiding between the seaweed at the ground of the Black Lake, trying not to attract the attention of one of the Grindilows. Oh how he hated those damned creatures. Only yesterday he had to watch how they caught one his comrades with some kind of net. He had struggled to get free but in vain. In the end they ended his life by spearing him, and carrying him away to get eaten. Miles shuddered at the thought. Without a wand they were helpless. They didn't even have teeth to bite back. They could only bubble. His second comrade had vanished while he slept. Miles had no idea what had happened to him.

Now he was all alone. _Alone, helpless and without hope_, Miles whined. Perhaps he should end this now. Nobody knew he was here. Nobody was coming to help him, certainly not that hag who transfigured him. Why didn't she simply kill him? It would have been more merciful.

He was weak now, after three days of not eating anything. The thought of eating other fishes disgusted him. The idea of eating other, more unpleasant things hovering in the water made him ill. How could he eat water fleas or whatever normal fishes chose for their diet? It was only a question of time until one of the bigger fishes surprised him. There had always been a couple of incidents and so far it had only been a mix of dumb luck and trained reflexes that spared his life. And then there was the rash. The itching of his scales drove him mad. He had tried to use a piece of wood like a bear rubbing his fur, but it didn't work this way under water.

_Please, Merlin, end this ordeal_, he begged.

He should have known better than to wish for something like this. It was only minutes later that he felt the re-transfiguration setting in. First there was a pang in his tail. Then his whole body was twitching and squeezing.

Could it be? Could this horror really come to an end?

Miles nearly fainted. Only the continued itching kept him awake. Suddenly one of his fins erupted from his body and turned into a leg. The second leg followed a moment later. It was a little fresh but Miles was happy. Next were the arms and then the head, before his body followed. The whole transfiguration wasn't painless but he was too excited to care. He was a man again.

A man, he grinned.

A man at the bottom of the sea… his smile froze.

A man without a wand, the thought terrified him and he looked up. There was a hint of light far above that promised air and freedom. Miles felt the need to breathe and nearly opened his mouth. Barely able to control himself, he started to swim towards the surface. Oh how he now missed his thrice-cursed fins. He was getting nowhere fast. He left the seaweed behind, but the bottom was still far closer than the surface. Animalistic fear and survival instinct kicked in and he increased his speed. He was in his birthday suit and unsurprisingly the only wand he had at hand was unsuited for the kind of magic he needed right now. Oxygen was running low now. His lungs screamed for air. His carotids bulged and slowly his brain was shutting down.

_Up, I have to get up_. Was the surface near already? He looked ahead and cursed. The surface was still far away. His struggling got weaker now and his sight turned a tad blurry.

Cold eyes were watching him, glee causing the observer to smile cruelly.

_I only promised you a chance at survival_, Gwrach y Rhibyn cackled, _nothing more. It's not my fault that you squandered it_. She stayed calm and only glided towards her prey as it stopped to move. A few last kicks, a fruitless attempt to breathe water or to propel the body out of the water with some wandless magic. Then there was only silence and a dead body hovering in the water.

_You're ruining the romantic sight and spoiling the water_, Gwrach cackled. _We can't have that_.

She reached her prey and poked the body. He had lost some weight but there was still enough for some happy meal for little Gretchen. She had been gifted Gretchen by an admirer from Florida. Gwrach really loved her cosy little Gretchen and had offered her a new home in her favourite moor. The nearly black Mississippi Alligator had grown to an impressive 18 feet since then and obviously felt happy and contented at her new home. A low pop and water filled the place where seconds ago a hag and a dead Death Eater had been. An instant later she appeared back home.

_Hello, Gretchen. Supper-time my dear!_

.

_**Somewhere in Cornwall – 2**__**nd**__** of October**_

.

Viktor took a last look around. Everything was ready. The Golem was prepared and protected. The wand was hidden within his left tight.

He had chosen the location very carefully. It was a crossroads of no less than five ley lines, two of them belonging to the strongest all over Britain. It was an old place, a sanctified place. His mere presence was despoiling it. He could feel it and it made him happy. He hated places like this, their magic trying to drive him away. The magical battle had been fierce, but he had won. Nobody would expect him around here. That it provided him with a number of strong defenders, succumbing to his will and magic, was only the icing on the cake.

Four weeks to go, he mused. Until then he had a biography to write and traps to prepare.

_Soon, Mistress, soon I'll be with you again._

.

_**Hogwarts Garden – 4**__**th**__** of October**_

.

_**A tent**_

"_I expect you to behave in an appropriate manner. This is a garden party in honour of Professor McGonagall's birthday, no circus. So there will be no careless running around, no throwing things towards unsuspecting persons, and nothing else to endanger her or her daughter. There will be no spicing up of the punch, and I expect you to think before you initiate any prank. If something happens to Professor McGonagall or my goddaughter, you'll have to answer to me. And when I'm finished with you, Hermione will care about the rest – should there be any. And she won't be as nice as me."_

Perhaps it was simply because they really cared for their House Head, and they realized that Professor McGonagall deserved and needed a birthday party that was a more solemn and calm affair than usual for their house. But it certainly helped to hear Neville's speech, and that he allowed his animal side and earth magic to leak into his words. The deep grumbling in his voice was enough to convince even the Twins that today pranks wouldn't be welcome. It was like a mix of a giant bear giving his challenging roar and a rocky avalanche threatening to swallow you whole. Certainly it was nothing you ignored lightly.

So, they had gathered in the garden far calmer and more orderly than expected. Hagrid, with the help of some older students, had erected a big tent with the side open, the inhabitants protected from the chilly breeze by some Air Magic rune stones created by Harry and Daphne. The ceiling of the tent was charmed to show a couple of house-elves and cats prank and chase each other around. It was a bit like a Tom and Jerry cartoon, some of the Muggleborns noticed.

In addition to the usual dishes from the Hogwarts elves, there were some hand-baked cakes from Agatha, Augusta and other friends as well as some specialities from other countries. Lina prepared some Icelandic specialities – mostly made of fish and not all of them well received by everybody because of their unusual taste; there was a couple of bowls with Paella, and all kinds of French pastries. The highlight certainly was a three-storey marzipan cake from Copenhagen.

There was soft music playing in the background, magically prepared by Headmaster Flitwick himself, with songs from the Weird Sisters and other well-known groups, but also quite a number of songs and plays performed by a couple of students and teachers. There was even a "Happy Birthday" song thrown into the mix, intonated by the "Friends of Minerva Choir", certainly chanted with more passion than talent – Minerva loved it nonetheless.

.

_**A guest**_

Roxanne Pinegrew halted her steps and a deep frown slipped onto her face. After finishing her daily work – she really loved to teach but correcting the mental diarrhoea of some of her second class students wasn't her favourite pastime – she was on her way to join the party. Agatha was already there with their presents: a guide "how to get back in shape after a pregnancy" and a rare original tome about transfiguration spells in ancient Greek.

What gave her pause however was the sight of one of the guests. It was a woman in her end thirties, dressed appropriately and behaving quite unobtrusive. She was standing near the table with the punch bowl and watching the party. Roxanne didn't recognize her and something concerned her about her presence. She really didn't want to spoil Minerva's party but she couldn't simply ignore this. Off the top of her head, she slipped her wand into her hand, mostly hidden by the sleeve of her robe, and cast a mild compulsion charm on the glass of punch the woman was holding. She hadn't to wait for long until the woman obeyed her sudden wish to step out of the tent to have a look at the lake.

Casting a notice-me-not charm on herself and a muffling charm onto her feet, Roxanne followed her. The foreign woman noticed her too late and froze as she felt a wand poking into her back. "No hasty moves. Who are you and what are your intentions?" Roxanne snarled with a low voice. They were alone for now, but she felt Daphne and Agatha standing not too far away. Strangely, her furious voice seemed to relax the foreign woman. She slowly turned around, lifting her hands to show that she didn't have her wand at the ready.

"Hello Roxy, long time no see."

.

"Pheli?"

Roxanne stared at her school day friend for a long time, unable to move. Then she suddenly lashed out, slapping her friend hard, before she stepped forward to pull her into an embrace. Her cheek burning as did her eyes, Ophelia Nott returned the hug strongly. "I'm sorry," she whispered hoarsely.

After a while Roxanne pushed her back and wiped the tears away. "And you should be. Frightening me like this, first with your disappearance and now with your all-spy-act. I could have killed you."

"Not killed, perhaps hurt a little," Ophelia cackled.

"You would have deserved it," Roxanne scolded her.

"Yes, I would," Ophelia agreed, smiling weakly.

Roxanne grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. "Let me have a look at you. You've slimmed, but not in a bad way."

"Less eating and more exercise does this to a girl," Ophelia grinned. She winked: "mostly exercise done in pairs."

"Oh you incorrigible woman," Roxanne pushed her. She got more serious now: "what are you doing here? Isn't this dangerous for you?"

Ophelia shrugged. "I had to come. I wanted to speak with you and at least see the family. Daphne and Tori are looking good. And Agatha too."

"Yeah, they're great, recovering after everything that happened. You know about Africa and London?"

Ophelia nodded: "and China. Dolohov has the Dark Lord in his grip again, doesn't he?" While Ophelia wasn't a Death Eater herself, she had spent too many hours in their presence – her brother's mostly – to use another name.

"Regretfully, yes," Roxanne nodded. "We assume he has brought him back into Great Britain, using the distraction to smuggle him into the country. Voldy has to be around here for his resurrection."

"Halloween is nearing," Ophelia mentioned, both women knowing that it would be the most probable date for the ritual. "And you have no idea where he is hiding?"

"No," Roxanne hesitated for a second but decided to trust her gut feeling. "Why are you really here, Pheli?"

Ophelia sighed and stared onto the lake while collecting her thoughts. "We got a second chance, Roxy. Markus and I, I mean. Yes, we're still together," she grinned curtly.

"Apparently he's good for you."

She nodded. "Yes, he really is. Theo… my brother… he did many stupid things in the past. He betrayed me ore than once, put his career above my happiness. In the end, however, he sacrificed his life when he let me go. He gave me a second chance and Markus got his when he got rid of his Dark Mark."

Roxanne's eyes widened and Ophelia nodded, breathing deeply. "It's a long story, but he's really free of the taint now."

"And what do you wish to do now?"

"We want to leave Britain. Our names," she sighed. "We don't have the best reputation. Most people would despise us. And those who would still be willing to speak with us…"

"… would belong to the old cloud."

"Yes," Ophelia agreed. "So we want to leave, travel around the world a bit, and look for some place we want to settle in. But we can't do this without clearing up the mess we left behind first. I don't want to have to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life, because some Death Eater wants to kill us or in fear of Aurors showing up. I want to have the chance to visit my home from time to time."

"You want to help us – in exchange for an amnesty." Despite her serious wish to help, Ophelia was too much of a Slytherin not to use the situation for her own good as well.

"I can help in a way none of you could. I know many hideouts even Severus has no idea about. And I know where Theo has his hidden diaries."

"And Markus?"

"He's with me in this. He knows the meeting places of the lower echelons, and whom to ask. I know Dolohov. Even when hiding, he has his needs. He'll send his men to gather his favourite dishes and whores. He can't live without them. We'll find him for you."

"I'll speak with Bry and Amelia about this. And with Harry."

Ophelia accepted it with a curt nod. "We'll meet again."

"Don't be a stranger," Roxanne whispered.

.

_**Dudley's girlfriend**_

Minerva was speaking with Emma and Petunia, while watching her guests. A couple of minutes ago, Molly had arrived, accompanied by Percy, as Ron hadn't been invited. There were quite a few other guests glaring at the former Weasley matriarch, but most of them behaved. There were even a couple of them following Hermione's lead and wishing her well for her recovery. The Twins seemed reluctant to greet her so far, but Minerva hoped they would change her mind.

A couple of steps away, Headmaster Flitwick was telling Brychan Camwy about the yearly Gringotts visit of the OWL students. It would happen next month for the second time, allowing the students – who had to choose their NEWT classes in a few months – to see what kind of jobs the Goblins offered. While that had formerly been a very narrow choice, with only a handful of humans allowed to work as curse-breakers, Gringotts had dramatically diversified and offered quite a number of careers now. They were quickly turning into a very important source of employ, second only to the Ministry.

Minerva had just stored the little dress she had got from Matron Mathilde for little Freya away when a new couple arrived at the tent. Petunia's face lit up as she recognized her son, her eyes narrowing a second later when she noticed he wasn't alone. Dudley blushed and hesitated at the entrance, and had to be dragged forward by his girlfriend. Girlfriend – Petunia had no doubt the girl was exactly that. Her being here could only mean…

"Sophie?" Hermione squeaked.

"Hi Mione," the girl replied with a smile, finding herself in a tight hug seconds later.

"Miss Roper, good to see you again," Minerva greeted the girl.

"You as well, Professor; and thank you for the invitation."

"Roper?" Petunia's frown deepened. "Sophie Roper, formerly student of Hogwarts?"

"Just the same," the girl nodded.

"I really missed you," Hermione babbled chirpily. "How are you doing?" While Lavender had needed a long time to become friends with Hermione, and Parvati only turned around because of Padma's friendship with her, the shy, quiet girl had been a friend nearly from the start. While not as studious or intelligent as Hermione, Sophie had never mocked her, and Hermione remembered fondly the afternoon when Lavender had been especially hurtful towards Hermione, only to have Sophie pour a cup of lukewarm tea on her head.

"We all did," Minerva agreed. "And congratulations to your OWL results, Miss Roper."

"Thank you," Sophie smiled shyly.

"So you really continued your education outside of Hogwarts?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Sophie responded, using Dudley's arm for support and avoiding to look at Petunia. "You remember how my parents revoked me from Hogwarts after second year?"

Hermione nodded sadly. Sophie, a Muggleborn like her, had been in danger from the Basilisk as well. She hadn't returned after the summer break much to Hermione's disappointment. They had continued to write each other at first but after a while that slowly died down.

"I visited one of the smaller English schools and aced my OWLs this summer. With the help of my parents, I used the school breaks and weekends to continue my Muggle education at the same time. I got my E-levels this summer as well. Now I'm preparing for my A-levels… I should get them around your NEWT exams."

"That's fantastic," Hermione smiled happily. "But what about your NEWTs?" While Sophie hadn't been a top student, she had been intelligent and mostly diligent enough. In Hermione's eyes it would be a waste of her talents not to sit her NEWTs.

"Father was adamant about me getting my A-levels first, but after that he'll pay for a tutor to prepare my NEWTs." Hermione nodded. This way the girl would be 19, perhaps 20 before she finished her education, but with NEWTs and A-levels under her belt she could choose where to live and work.

"What are your parents doing for work, Miss Roper?" Petunia interjected. She had been quiet so far, still a little annoyed that Dudley had hidden this girl for so long.

Sophie gulped. "My father is a teacher… at Dudley's school actually. My mother is working part-time as a technical laboratory assistant."

"So you're classmates?" Hermione wondered.

"No," Sophie shook her head. "Father and I spoke about it but decided it would be better if I joined a different school." Hermione understood well enough. It wasn't always funny to have your own mother glaring at you from the teacher's table.

"And how did you meet my Dudley?" Petunia asked. "He was quite… reserved… when speaking about you."

Sophie turned towards Dudley, who fruitlessly tried to make himself smaller under his mother's glare, and smiled happily. "When we first met, he was my hero…"

.

_**Neville**_

"He'll get an earful later," Neville grinned, watching the show from afar. He had left Hermione with her old bunkmate and left with Minerva to join his grandma and his parents. While Petunia, after listening to Sophie's story about her first meeting with Dudley and how she only told him about her being a witch a couple of days ago, had loosened up towards the girl and seemed to accept her, she still glared at her son from time to time. Only Sophie's presence had rescued him from a scolding so far.

"She's stubborn," Minerva shrugged, "nearly as much as me."

Neville raised a single eyebrow and dared to grin. He actually got a push in return. "I know my own faults," Minerva glared. "I only resist changing them."

"Your stubbornness is a part of your nature," Augusta commented calmly.

"A part you love or a part you hate?" Minerva asked with a wicked witch grin.

"Depends on the situation," Augusta shrugged. "But now: why did you call us?"

"I have some news for Neville," Minerva replied.

"For me?"

"Yes," Minerva nodded. "There will be a more formal presentation at a later time, but I thought you ought to know that I spoke with Griselda Marchbanks about your fight at the trial of grievance."

"Huh?" Neville stared blankly at her, earning him slaps from Alice and Augusta. He gathered his senses under Minerva's smirk and asked with more countenance: "Why did you do such a thing?"

"You showed quite some talent and a broad range of knowledge at the trial, with spells from Charms, Transfigurations and DADA, not to speak of your unusual elemental magic. Because of this Griselda Marchbanks is willing to give you an "O" in Charms, Transfiguration and DADA with a special commendation in Transfiguration because of your Animagus form. In addition they intend giving you an O in Elemental Magic, a subject that had been taught a Hogwarts in the past."

Neville looked completely flabbergasted, while Frank patted his shoulder. "Congrats, son."

Augusta nodded proudly. "That would be four NEWTs down already, Neville, counting Herbology. I'm proud of you."

Neville smiled broadly for a moment, but then he remembered something and started to frown. "I'm… I'm not certain this really is a good idea."

"Why the hell not?" Frank nearly yelled.

Alice by contrast smiled softly. "It's because of Hermione, isn't it?"

Neville nodded. "I'm not certain how she'll feel about it."

"She'll be proud," Augusta insisted and Minerva agreed.

"But she'll have to study alone next summer," Neville whined. "I'm not certain I can handle her in full exam mode without having to study myself." This got him a round of mocking laughter.

"Can I think about this?"

.

_**On the English Channel – 6**__**th**__** of October**_

.

Her steps muffled and her senses wide awake to sense any ambush, she slowly opened the door, careful not to trigger any wards. It made her nervous that there weren't any. No Aurors hiding, not even a house-elf attending – he really seemed to be completely alone. She had been waiting for such a chance for days. She had been hiding near her target, watching him, and investigating his daily routine. Several times he had met Nymphadora, but not today. Not once had she seen Andromeda.

_Perhaps she is on vacation_, she mused.

Her tracing spell had allowed her to follow him to this… whatever this was. They were near the coast, overlooking the channel. All around there was a loose gathering of little cottages, very cosy and private.

_It's like some kind of love nest_, she narrowed her eyes. _He wouldn't dare to betray Andi, would he?_

She entered the parlour, hearing him clatter in the kitchen. There was a table, laid for two persons. A slender flower vase with a single blood red rose, two glasses and a bottle of vine – Bella felt her blood boiling. She drew her wand as steps neared. Seconds later, Ted Tonks entered the room, carrying two plates with some kind of pasta dish. He stopped, as he noticed his "surprise guest", but showed no fear. Actually he looked quite calm, Bella noticed. _Pale. Sad. Resigned_. He stepped nearer and put the plates down, completely ignoring the wand in his face.

Squaring his shoulders and straightening his back, he greeted her. "Hello, Bella. Back to good ol' England, I see."

"Traitor," Bella fumed, not really shocking Ted. "Adulterer," this one confused him. "Who is your mistress? Who is worthy enough in your eyes to betray my sister? You should thank her on your knees…"

"What are you rambling about?" Ted stopped her at last. "What mistress? Are you daft?"

"Don't you dare to deny it," she gestured towards the second plate. "The signs are obvious."

"Obvious indeed," Ted sneered, "Obvious that you have no idea of your sister. Do you even know what day this is?"

Bella frowned but didn't lower her wand. She obviously had no idea what he was talking about.

"Today is our wedding day," Ted said calmly. With Tonks nearing her 23rd birthday, it had been right in this room exactly one year ago, that Andi and he had celebrated their silver wedding anniversary. It had been a spontaneous decision to return to this place, to celebrate on his own, acting as if she was there. It wasn't healthy, he knew that, but he wanted to do this nonetheless.

"Your wedding day?" Bella asked. It could have been a trick, something to confuse her. Certainly he didn't believe she would spare him because of it.

"Yes," Ted nodded.

"And where is Andi?" Bella sneered. She got him there, she was certain.

The reaction was not as expected. Ted's expression relaxed. He even started to smile. "She's waiting for me."

"Huh?" Bella blinked, not even realizing that her wand started to waver. "Waiting? Where?"

"Where you'll send me in a few moments' time." His voice was calm. He would be reunited with Andi. Ted was a little sad to leave Tonks behind, but she had Remus and her friends. And he had been so alone, his heart empty since _She_ left him.

"You're not making any sense," Bella growled. She didn't understand him. Was he mocking her?

Ted sighed. He appeared to be completely unfazed by her anger. "You intend to end what your snake-faced master started months ago, don't you?"

"How dare you call him…"

"Bella, please." He sighed again. "I'm so tired of this. Just do it." He pointed towards his chest, leaving no doubt what he expected, even begged her to do.

"You're a little too eager to die, you coward," Bella sneered.

"Call me whatever you will, Bella. You won't understand. You never loved."

Bella snarled. She knew love. She had loved for the greater part of her life. It had been a love unreciprocated, a love without hope, but still it was love. Ted continued unimpressed and incredible sad. "I want to be with Andi again. I don't want to be alone anymore."

Bella staggered back, as her mind grasped what Ted told her. Her face incredible pale now, she asked hoarsely. "Andi is dead?" So this was the reason she hadn't seen her sister. She wanted to deny the truth, but it made too much sense. Her absence, his paleness, the second plate – her little sister was dead. "How?" The word was barely audible.

She startled, as Ted suddenly exploded. "Don't you dare, you ugly bitch. Don't you dare to mock me like this, playing surprised and all. You know exactly how she died. I've seen her body after your worthless master was finished with her."

"What? No, no, no, this can't be." Bella stepped back like someone had slapped her.

As sudden as his temper flared, Ted calmed down again. "You didn't know?" He looked sad now; there was even pity in his eyes. Andi had loved her older sister till the end despite everything. If Bella was anything like that…

"This can't be," Bella screamed. "He promised me. He promised me. You're lying. YOU'RE LYING!" Her magic flared. The glasses, vase and every window exploded.

"I'm not. Look me in the eyes. I'm only telling the truth."

"Legilimens," Bella shuddered, as her mind invaded his. There was only darkness. Sadness. Grief. The wish to end this now and forever. Then she heard the whispers, followed them until she found the heart of his sadness. A picture of a chamber, a room she had visited in the past, a room Ted had no right to know about. There was a stone slab in the middle. It had often been used for rituals in the past. There was a body on the stone, shackled to it by magic-suppressing rune-covered iron chains.

_Andi!_ It was Andi.

Bella jumped back, in mind as well as in body. She left his memories, was barely able to stay on her feet. Tears were streaming down her face, but for the first time in a long time she didn't care. She didn't notice her mad screams that filled the air and made everybody within a hundred yards running. It was like losing her sister thirty years ago all over again, only worse. This time there was no hope for reunification.

"This can't be. This can't be. He promised. He promised me." Her fists pounded the table, her magic increasing her strength, allowing her to break the heavy wood asunder. She needed some time to calm down. Only then did her knees buckle and she slumped to the ground. He betrayed her. The man she had respected, adored and loved for all those years – he had betrayed her.

"You really didn't know." There it was again in his eyes: the pity. "He killed her last spring. He used her life and soul to create a new Horcrux. They got him a few days later, but it was too late for my sweet Andi."

It made sense. In a mad, horrible way it made sense, Bella had to admit. She had been away, unable to protect her sister. With so many of his Horcruxes destroyed, her master had certainly feared for his eternal life. He had to create new Horcruxes, and Andi had been a suitable sacrifice.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Bella."

Bella didn't even notice the madness of the situation: the widower grieving with the sister. She didn't see the look he sent her way. Her mind didn't really grasp how she left the cottage again, her feet stumbling, and her wand never doing what she had intended to do, never sending the deadly magic towards Ted Tonks as she had planned.

Andromeda Black… Andi… her little sister that always followed her heart, her sister that had appeared to be the weak one among the three sisters, but had been strong enough to go against her family… was dead.

Bella gulped and clenched her fist around her wand, nearly breaking it in her fury.

Someone would pay for this.

.

_**Somewhere far away – 7**__**th**__** of October**_

.

With sharp attention and careful steps Severus Snape approached the house. Immediately after he got the news about the unwelcome appearance of Bellatrix LeStrange, he had departed for Narcissa's hideout. Only a handful of persons knew that Narcissa had freed her sister and left the country with the memory charmed first class bitch. Only two persons knew how to contact her, the other one being her solicitor who had sworn an unbreakable vow not to betray her.

Bella being in Britain promised bad things about Narcissa's fate. Obviously Bella had been able to regain her memory, to break through the mind charms. She had certainly been furious, to take it lightly. Hopefully she hadn't outright killed her sister, not that he expected it to happen. Bella was even madder about family than everything else. It hadn't surprised him in the least to hear how she left Ted Tonks, alive, after learning about Andromeda Tonks fate. He was nearly tempted to simply sit back and wait for her reaction towards her former master – nearly.

One by one he disabled the wards around the house. Many of them he had taught Narcissa himself, but there were others he knew to be Black family secrets. Two wards however, two especially vicious ones, bore the hallmarks of Bellatrix. One false step or word and the dunderheads at Hogwarts would have a chance to celebrate his bloody and painful demise.

_Homenum Revelio! _

As expected there was only one living person in the house. The door would be trapped, the windows even worse. Four high-powered cutting curses and a Reducto later, he had an entrance of his own through the roof of the house. It was only now that he was able to hear the screams – Narcissa's screams.

_At least she is alive_, he mused locking away the concern he felt in a dark part of his mind.

_Time to get her home!_

.

_**Hogwarts – same time**_

.

"Are you certain about this, Sir?" Her beady eyes had nothing of their usual dreamy look. This was serious, something she hadn't expected to happen, not in a lifetime.

"We can't have it uselessly lying around the whole time," Headmaster Flitwick answered, his small hand rubbing the wooden casket that was resting on his table. "I want to make good use of it. I want you to use it." He sighed deeply. "I have the feeling we'll need any and every bit of help these coming weeks."

"What do you want me to do?"

Filius smiled weakly and shrugged. "I have absolutely no idea, honestly said. It's only a gut feeling."

"Why not Daphne or Hermione? Or perhaps Professor Pinegrew? Wouldn't she be better suited for the task?" There was a hint of self-doubt in her voice, a doubt the diminutive headmaster didn't share in the least. He shook his head.

"No, you're the only one I could imagine doing this. You're her rightful descendant, if not by blood then certainly by mind, heart and soul. I don't believe it would accept any other person." He pushed the casket towards her. "Work with it. Make yourself comfortable with it. I have the feeling you'll need it soon enough."

.

_**Somewhere in Cornwall – same time**_

.

She screamed out a curse, hissing in pain and futile rage. Barely able to escape, her landing anything but graceful, she looked back in horror and disgust.

For fourteen generations her family had been protectors of the sacred grounds. For fourteen generations her kind had been able to find restful sleep in that cavern. Centuries before anybody even knew the name of Merlin, the Druids of Cornwall and her foremothers had agreed upon this place. They had sanctified it with the blood of their foes and erected wards that should have been strong enough to keep any foe at bay. They had seen the Romans, the Saxons and the Normans setting foot onto their land. None of them had broken the old truce.

Until now!

Until this disgusting creature that had no right to exist, broke through the wards and took the cavern for home.

Hearing about the blasphemy, she returned from Romania, left her children on their own, willing and eager to crush the intruder. She had tried her best. However, it had been to no avail. He was too strong. She would have given her life, but to what avail? The cavern would still be defiled. She had to be a coward today. She had to find allies to retake the cavern. It was her duty as it had been her mother's in the years before.

_Who could be willing to help? Who would be able to help? Who was trustworthy enough?_

She had to think about it.

.

_**Hogwarts – 8**__**th**__** of October**_

.

He had tried his best. In a way he had been successful. He knew the nightmare curse Bella had used on her sister. Unwilling to spill family blood, the crazy bitch had obviously decided to punish her sister for her perceived betrayal. The "Curse of the painful Future" showed the recipient a possible future where everything went wrong in the worst way. Beloved ones died or turned against the victim. Wealth, home, and family – everything was taken away. There was pain, helplessness and despair dominating every single thought of the picture. It was a never-ending nightmare.

In theory it was possible for the victim to get free on his own, to break his mental chains. In reality however that never happened. The pictures of loss and betrayal, the imagined pain and pure felt despair prohibited it.

He had been able to reach her mind, but too much damage had already been done. Narcissa Black was like a scared child right now. She needing coaxing to make the next step, to leave the little cranny she was using to hide. Severus Snape had been thinking about how to help her. Six months ago he would have asked Andromeda. However, that wasn't possible anymore. Nymphadora, while being on friendlier terms with her aunt now, was in too much pain herself. Draco – he would have been the obvious choice. Severus feared however, that he wouldn't be able to keep his feeling under control. After losing his father he was a little fragile regarding his family - Lucius being a bastard or not, Draco had loved him in a way.

No, he had to find another person willing to help, a person that cared for Narcissa; a person that wasn't perceived as a threat by the scared woman. It knocked at the door.

"Enter!"

The door opened and two young women entered his office. The first one was Penelope Clearwater. More and more his assistant had taken the role of Head of House Ravenclaw. The students liked and trusted her, perhaps even more than Filius Flitwick. Especially the girls saw a big sister in her, someone to address with all kind of personal problems. That they respected her as well was a bit of a mystery for Severus, but it was a well-known fact. Right now she curtly nodded in his direction, while staying side by side with the other young woman.

"You wanted to see me, Professor?"

Severus reciprocated the curt nod and replied surprisingly soft: "yes, Miss Frobisher. I find myself in need of your help. Narcissa finds herself in need of your help."

Her eyes widened. Without asking what and why, she whispered: "I am at your service, Professor."

.

"_**Around Hogwarts" – 9**__**th**__** of October**_

.

He had done everything properly. After getting his senses back and realizing the horrid situation he was in, Raymond Baskin had done his best to survive. Belonging to one of the many old but unimportant pureblood families following Voldemort, he had always been proud of his intellect and talent. He had always been good at Charms and Potions, not that this did him much good right now.

He had stayed away from the Grindilows. He had been careful not to trap himself in the seaweed and even learned to catch smaller fish. Eating them had been a disgusting experience, but he had overcame his feelings to survive. Hoping to get his human body back one day, he had even remembered to stay above a certain water depth. It wouldn't do to change back to his normal self, only to drown before he reached the lake's surface, oh no.

Raymond Baskin was clever. Raymond Baskin would survive. Raymond Baskin would get his revenge.

Or so he had thought it to happen. _And now this_, he sighed. Raymond looked around. After days being a prisoner of his fish-form, he had felt the magic surge through his body. One by one the scales vanished, human skin returning. Fins changed to legs and arms, gills made way for human lungs. Realizing his precarious situation, he instantly started to swim towards the surface. Fifty feet above, sunlight was taunting him. There was air, freedom, and a real life – a life without raw fish and the sharp teeth of Grindilows.

Forty feet… thirty… twenty…

Everything went dark.

.

They had promised it. And they would keep their word.

Two years ago, the old headmaster had visited their village. The Mermen had trusted him. They had believed him when he said nothing bad would happen to them. They had been wrong. Four hostages, four champions – the younger Mermen had been excited to watch it happen. Life under the lake was a bit lacking in variety. For a while everything had been alright. It had been interesting to watch how the surface dwellers overcame their weakness – the lack of breathing water capabilities.

Two of them had used some kind of bubble spell. One had changed halfway into a big fish – the children had stayed far away from those impressive teeth. The last and smallest one had changed into something similar to a Merman, complete with gills and webbings. One by one they had reached their destination. One by one they had freed their hostages. Only one had been a problem, the fiery one, the sole female.

They had felt her inner fire. The young woman had felt unwelcome and lost in the foreign water but still done her best. However, she had chosen the wrong path and crossed a group of Grindilows. The small creatures – while looking a little frightening – had always been good friends of the Mermen. Many Mermen children had Grindylow pets. Human children all over the world had the ugliest pets, be it three-legged cats, dogs without any discernible breeding or a goat with only one horn. Mermen children were no different with their pets. They loved their little friends dearly.

On that day, many of them had lost their little friends and they had been furious – not furious towards the woman, as she had only seen a danger where none had been and reacted in kind – but towards the Headmaster. A month later, there had been a change at the school. A new Headmaster had been chosen, something that hadn't happened for two Mermen generations. He had visited them, explained what had happened above the surface and renewed the truce between humans and Mermen.

They had promised it: they wouldn't endanger the students and teachers. They wouldn't attack a resident of the castle. They wouldn't. They had kept that promise so far.

Then however, something new happened a couple of days ago. They had felt how their lake got a trio of new residents. They looked like regular fish, but they weren't. The Mermen decided to follow them around. One of them got killed by Grindilows. While they were friends of the Mermen, Grindilows still needed to eat. They were predators of the lake after all. The second one turned back into a human one week ago.

A human.

A human who wasn't a resident of the castle.

A human who was in their reach, ready to extract revenge.

It had been then that one of the older Merwomen had an epiphany. She would use the chance, use it to extract revenge and help her grandchild who had been so sad back then. Like most mermen, she wasn't any good at using spells. They had only a small number of abilities, more akin to powers than what a human would call a real spell. They certainly needed neither word, gesture nor a wand. But in a way they had magic as well; mostly it was the magic of water herbs and their special blend of potions. And it was a potion she prepared. Carefully gathering the ingredients, ordering her daughter to prepare everything else, she continued to watch the last "guest" for days.

Her time would come.

And then it happened: the "fish" changed into a human as expected. The human –cleverer than the other – started to swim towards the surface. Soon he would be free again. However, she had other things in mind. Her prey didn't notice the hunter following him. He didn't dodge the attack, had no chance to avoid the poisoned needle hitting his ankle. There was no time for him to react before darkness grabbed his mind.

She smiled wickedly. She had her prey in her fangs. Now it was time for the potion.

.

Slowly he opened his eyes. Raymond Baskin had a hell of a headache. It was like his head wanted to split in two. Looking around he noticed a couple of things.

His eyesight was not as it should.

There were two Mermen watching him.

Between him and them there were bars.

Frowning he looked the bars up and down. He was in a kind of cage. A cage with a locked door. A cage filled with water. Why didn't he drown? Panic filled him. Was he a fish again? Were the Mermen watching him because they wanted to eat him?

"He's cute." The smaller Mermen bubbled. Only now did he realize that it was a child. But why did he understand it?

"What have you done to me?" He asked. Or more exactly, it was what he wanted to do. There were only bubbles leaving his mouth and no understandable sounds. Not really surprising for a fish, he mused.

"He is yours now," the older Mermen said, watching him with an evil glare. "But you have to take good care of him. You know how they like to scram."

_Oh yes, I will_, Raymond fumed.

"I'll take good care of it," the child said, lifting something that looked like a harness.

"Good, good," the older Merman patted the child's head. She waited for her grandson to leave, before she addressed her prisoner. "You'll stay like this for the rest of your life." Raymond would have paled if possible. "Grindilows have a life expectancy of six to nine years; caged ones live even longer sometimes.

Grindilows? Raymond looked down. There weren't fins but those tentacles. He wasn't a fish. He was a blasted Grindylow.

"Accept your fate and your life will be fairly well," she snarled, barring her old teeth in a snarl. "Fight it and what you'll experience will be… unpleasant." With a last wicked smile she turned around and left.

And Raymond Baskin bubble-screamed his rage.

He had a long and humiliating life ahead.

And not too far away, a wicked hag cackled in glee.

.

_**A/N**_

_In the beginning, I wanted to use Sally-Anne Parks as Dudley's girlfriend. She's the most widely known among the houseless students. However, I remembered just in time that I already killed her in chapter 35 of "Congregation". So I had to use another former student: Sophie Roper. _

_Yes, Bella now knows about her sister's fate. And she's not a happy camper._

_For summarization: all three Death eaters that attacked Minerva have met their fate now. One killed and eaten as a fish, one drowned, and the last one permanently transformed into a Grindylow. _

_Two of the interludes will be clarified next chapter._


	31. Chapter 31 You're going down (part 1)

_**A/N**_

_I know the part about __**Luna and the diadem**__ is a bit impromptu. I actually forgot about that after the cleansing and only now remembered that I wanted to use it in the story finals._

**.**

**You're going down (Part 1)**

.

_**Ministry of Magic – DMLE war room – 16**__**th**__** of October**_

.

"Still no solid hint about Riddle's whereabouts so far," Brychan Camwy said, summarizing the results obtained so far. Two weeks of searching, two weeks of looking for every straw that could lead them to Riddle or at least one of the higher echelons out there, and still they found nothing. Yes, they searched a score of places, and razed a handful of hiding places to the ground. They arrested more than three dozen persons, eight of them that would inhabit Azkaban for a long time. The war coffers were swelling with confiscated wealth; the Goblins were happy, earning two sickles from every confiscated galleon. He would have preferred Dolohov's head on a lance though.

The most promising lead so far had been the arrest of Frederick Rosier, one of the many Rosiers following Dolohov's command. With the help of Veritaserum, they had been able to pry out a couple of addresses. Robards was now searching them with a team of heavily armed Aurors. Hopefully he would be more successful.

Amelia accepted the news with a curt nod and looked around. Her predecessor wouldn't be able to recognize the room. With the help of the more modern and Muggle oriented DMLE of Denmark, they had transformed the command centre into something the "New Scotland Yard" could work with. While screens and working stations where magic driven instead of electricity, they certainly looked like modern computer stations.

One of the bigger screens showed the current status of different teams that were meant to be part of the attack task force. A combined team of twenty Aurors, under the leadership of Kingsley and his French colleague Baptiste Macôme, was on standby and ready to spring into action within a couple of minutes. The duo had worked together flawlessly in Africa, so Amelia saw no reason to discontinue the good work. The team had been reinforced by a handful of French Vampires under the leadership of Shaeffer – with Richard Madsin and Baron Pascal regretfully still out of action – and an equal number of Werewolves following Jessica Treskow.

The British Werewolf Clans had only allowed seasoned warriors to be part of this, so the number was far smaller than Amelia would have wished for. The same counted for the French Vampires. With their leaders unable to fight and a couple of old enemies waiting for such a chance, they hadn't dared to leave their homes undefended. Both points had been lessened a bit by the surprising arrival of four Werewolves and two Vampires from the Czech Republic. While Clan leader Ildiko as well as both Vampires – Professor Bramasov and Doctor Darpa – would mostly work as field medic, and be very welcome as such, the trio of Werewolf warriors would reinforce the battle team.

There were many others waiting as well, the whole task force organized to be ready for action within an hour at most. Healers from the congregation, house-elves to evacuate the injured, a dozen Centaurs to patrol the area – Amelia didn't intend to send them into the thick of the battle – and many more. Ironsides had promised to send her grandson, Chief curse-breaker Tremors, as well as a couple of other curse-breakers and a score of her warriors.

It was a professional army, all in all. There wouldn't be hundreds of students fighting for their lives this time around. The battle would certainly not be fought on the grounds of Hogwarts, like Dumbdork had planned – the stupid arse. Only a very few students would be there, six to be exact, as well as only a handful of teachers. She would have liked to keep them away as well, but it was impossible to deny Roxanne and Agatha Pinegrew a place in her ranks. The same could be said for Augusta Longbottom. Filius had found a place among Tremors' group and Severus Snape was obviously eager to atone for his former misdeeds. At least Minerva would stay at Hogwarts. Though Amelia had no doubt that her friend wished for things to be different.

"Show me the targets for tomorrow."

.

_**Hogwarts – Hospital Wing – same time**_

.

"She's worrying about you." Snape's eyes had followed the young girl until she had left the room and closed the door, before he addressed Narcissa Black. The happy widow was lying in a bed, still pale and frail looking, but apparently getting better – so much better indeed, that she intended to accompany Severus when the fight started, which was the reason for the girl's concern.

"She's a good girl," Narcissa sighed. "I really don't deserve her crush." The experience of having the girl's mind merge with hers had been intense. Together, Vicky Frobisher and Severus Snape had been able to coax her out of the cranny where "little Cissy" had been hiding from the big bad world. She was now nearly back to her old self, but couldn't deny the impact of the experience.

"It's far more than a crush," Severus responded. He had noticed the look and the tears in the girl's face. It was hard not to.

"Severus is becoming an expert in the matters of the heart?" Narcissa teased.

"I'm learning," Severus dead-panned. "If this is all done and over, you should seriously think about your future."

"You can't be serious," Narcissa said a little flabbergasted. "She is a girl… my student… and not even half my age."

"None of this should stop you if she's making you happy," Severus shrugged. Narcissa was still a little shocked every time her old friend behaved so un-Snape-ish – if that was even a word.

"Draco would never accept her," now she was obviously fetching for reasons.

"Draco and Miss Frobisher have gotten quite close this summer. She was spending quite some time with him and Astoria – helping each other with their worries about your fate."

Narcissa had no idea what to respond to that. Draco had changed as well. She had noticed that during his first visit after her waking up. Despite the physical similarities: he was nothing like Lucius anymore – aside from his still strong urge to hide his emotions and his superiority complex; both things he had been working on, however. To her relief, Severus changed the topic.

"I lost a couple of students this month. They used the last Hogsmeade weekend to go into hiding. All of them were fifth year and up."

"Recruitment?" Narcissa asked weakly. If Dolohov was recruiting students to fight for his master, it was looking really bleak.

Severus nodded gravely. "Most of the names were unsurprising. I would have expected them to join the cause after school. Only… I had hoped to have convinced the Carrow sisters at least. Flora Carrow actually stayed, but her twin sister Hestia left with the others." Flora and Hestia were nieces of Alecto and Amycus Carrow. They were scary intelligent and had been in charge of the older Slytherin girls so far. Despite their talent and interest with the Dark Arts, they had been promising so far, their "racism" being one of intellect and not of blood. If nothing else, the sheer brilliance of Hermione Granger would have convinced them of the stupidity of the "Muggleborn are unworthy of magic" statements. Adding to this the near worship they felt towards all four Pinegrew women/girls, and he had really been shocked to hear about Hestia's flight.

"I really hope she sees reason in time."

.

_**Hogwarts – some unused class room – 18**__**th**__** of October**_

.

The girl with the long blond hair and the beady, usually a little dreamy eyes was not amused right now. Luna Lovegood was glaring at the content of the box. Headmaster Flitwick had confided it to her, trusting into her abilities to find a way to make good use of it. So far she had accomplished nothing in that direction. It still resisted her wishes, did nothing more than playing "piece of scrap".

"You could try wearing it the other way round," Moaning Myrtle suggested not very helpfully.

A couple of days ago, she had started to hang around Luna, watching her non-existing success. In the beginning, she had mocked Luna because of it, but after Luna had slight break-down, her behaviour had changed. To see the usually so composed Ravenclaw in tears had moved even the self-centred bathroom ghost.

"I've tried that already," Luna sighed to Myrtle's surprise, "as well as wearing it as a bracelet or anklet. It still doesn't answer to my call. I feel the magic but it makes nothing. I fear only Lady Ravenclaw was meant to make use of…"

Luna stopped, her eyes comically widening.

"Luna?" Myrtle whispered, snapping her fingers to get the girl's attention and even poking her as Luna didn't react.

"Rowena Ravenclaw," Luna said with a broad grin.

"What about her?" Myrtle asked. "Isn't she dead?"

"Yes," Luna nodded, her grin broadening. Myrtle took a couple of steps back. The girl somewhat frightened her. "And her daughter is dead as well."

"Okay," Myrtle strained the word. "And how does that help us?"

Luna smiled. _Us_. Myrtle had really taken a turn these days. "We can ask her. You can ask her."

Myrtle's eyes showed confusion for a moment, before they widened in recognition. "The Grey Lady."

"The Grey Lady," Luna grinned.

"She won't help us," Myrtle declared. "She's barely speaking with anybody."

Luna's face darkened. Her hand closed around the Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw and she pulled it from the box. "She must and she will." Luna thought back about how they found and cleansed the diadem, but more about how Voldemort had been able to get it into his dirty hands in the first place. "She owes us." Luna turned towards Myrtle. "Go. Find her. Bring her to me."

.

_**Scotland – hunter's lodge near Glasgow – 21**__**st**__** of October**_

.

"In two days I'll get another five warriors from Turkey."

Fenrir Greyback gobbled down his vine like it was some kind of Apple Juice and not ten year old Bordeaux. The Wolf really had no manners, taste or culture. He was slouching on the couch, his filthy boots dirtying the fabric. Luckily the lodge didn't belong to him, Dolohov mused. He was only hiding at this place for a couple of days before he continued to his main hideout near Aberdeen. He had changed his residence several times since entering Great Britain, but now it was time to prepare for the ritual.

Dolohov accepted the news with a curt nod. He hated to be polite to this ugly brute, but he had to… for a couple days more at least. After his master's resurrection, there would be a time and opportunity to get rid of him. He barely suppressed a sigh. They had lost far too many good fighters. Amycus Carrow, Goyle, Higgs, Jugson, Rodolphus Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, McNair, Nott, Rookwood, Smith, and Yaxley – the list went on and on. A few of them he was happy to be rid of, but still they would sourly miss their wands in the coming battles. From the inner circle there were only four members left besides him: Bulstrode, Rabastan Lestrange, Mulciber and Travers. From these he only really trusted Travers. Mulciber was alright, Bulstrode's bark was worse than his bite and LeStrange – he wasn't certain how far he could trust the man. Dolohov was certain that the coward had only shown up at his doorstep to save his arse should the Dark Master start to dish out revenge after his return.

And then there was Bellatrix. According to rumours she had returned to Great Britain from who knew where. He had drunken himself into stupor after hearing that bit of news. _I really had hoped to be rid of her for good_. So far she hadn't shown up at his door. Actually she had been in hiding since her first appearance, a very surprising and confusing action.

No, he regretfully needed the wolves for now; there was nothing to argue about it. These days, Fenrir looked even worse than before. One ear ripped off and his face a little demolished, he had a face that could sour milk and make children cry with ease. He had lost a couple of followers since his return, and it was a constant race between further defectors and new members of his little furry club. With Scandinavia closing its borders, he had turned to South-Eastern Europe to convince mostly young and impressionable Werewolves to join his pack. Down there, his reputation was still frightening and impressive, unlike Western Europe where the Treskows had easily surpassed him in that matter. It was difficult to tell a realistic number, but Dolohov assumed that about twenty to thirty Werewolves were following him, none of them as fearsome as those he had lost in the past months. And there weren't any mothers and children belonging to his pack any longer. His plans to build his own little Werewolf Kingdom had been placed on hold for now.

He had an equal number of Death Eaters following his lead. Half of them were serious fighters, the rest mostly unmarked family members. Some of them needed serious nudging and poking to leave the holes they had been hiding at. They convinced a dozen older students to leave Hogwarts – not all of them Slytherins – and an equal number of students from Durmstrang. Two years ago whole years would have followed his call, but times were changing. None of them would be able to face an Auror one-on-one, but they were passable cannon-fodder or distraction. The only noteworthy among them was Hestia Carrow – Amycus Carrow little niece. She had already proven to be able to defend herself against advances of some of her older "comrades". In a few years she could even give Bellatrix a run for her money – madness inclusive as that Carrow family trait was running wild in her.

One of the mightiest tools in his arsenal was the bunch of Dementors obeying him. After the past events, with Potter killing more than fifty of their brethren, they had needed some serious bargaining to join the Master's cause once again. With British Aurors starting to use the Carnifex spell as well, hunting became difficult and dangerous for Dementors. Dolohov had ordered his men to collect a bit of "soul fodder" and now they had more than forty Dementors waiting for a chance to take their revenge. He was in negotiations with another group of Dementors, hoping to convince them before serious fights started – as he had no doubt that the phase of hiding would soon end.

Another bright spot had been the addition of a trio of Greek beast handlers. Georgios – he had neither wish nor need to learn his unutterable last name – and his two children had been forced to flee their home after the list of accidental deaths around their farm got out of hand. They hadn't left without taking a pride of their cute pets with them – eight fully grown Manticores. They were on their way to the main lair already, as they had to be really careful not to disclose their presence. They would have to handle them with care, as the Manticores would attack his own men as well without their Greek handlers around. Dolohov however was certain that they would be worth it.

No Giants. No Vampires. Not even an army of Inferi. His army wasn't nearly as strong as he wished them to be. It had to be enough however. It simply had to.

.

_**Scotland – some pub in Edinburgh – 23**__**rd**__** of October**_

.

Markus Flint walked down the dirty little street, his face hidden by the hood of his cloak. The street belonged to the magical quarter of the city. It was kind of Edinburgh's counterpart to Knockturn Alley. He passed a shabby house to the left, ignoring the chat-up line of a whore old enough to be his mother. Glancing towards a nook where two untrustworthy looking men were handling some kind of business – probably the kind that would interest an Auror, if any Auror would ever willingly enter this part of the city – he kept his wand at the ready and hurried onward.

A couple minutes later he reached the destination of today's trip. It was an old and dirty house. The windows were too clotted with dirt to look through and the wooden sign with the name of the location had long been lost to the winds of time. If you needed to know the name of the location, you were wrong at the place. He entered calmly, hoping this to be the right decision. It really depended on the fact that Dolohov spread the word about his defection. He didn't expect it. He was too unimportant and hopefully his former master didn't expect him to be so bold as to return.

A couple of gents were sitting at half a dozen tables, some of them scrutinizing him shortly, but most of them ignoring him after a single glance. He simply looked and behaved like he belonged here – something that had been right in the past. The guy behind the counter greeted him with a curt nod and continued to polish some glasses – more like dirtying them as the piece of cloth he used should have been burned months ago. Without a word, he fetched a bottle and pushed it towards Flint. In this kind of establishment you only could choose between cheap, very cheap and tolerable brandy. Flint got the better kind. It would burn in the stomach, clean the dirt from the glass, but at least not make him ill.

He put some coins on the table and meandered between the tables towards one in the corner. A single man was sitting there with some cheap woman sitting in his lap.

"John," Flint greeted him and took the seat across the table without waiting for an invitation. His name certainly wasn't John, but he was known under that nickname – "Smiling John".

"Markus, old mate," John showed a toothy grin, the friendliness never reaching his eyes. "Long time no see. How are you doing in these troubled times?"

Instead of an answer, Markus glared at the woman that was nibbling on John's earlobe. John shook his head in mock disapproval. "You never were a ladies' man, Markus." He slapped the woman's lower back. "Business talk, honey," he shooed her away. "Go warm the bed a bit."

She pouted a bit but obeyed. "Don't let me wait for too long." She sashayed away, wiggling her bum as she did.

"Your taste was better in the past," Flint mocked him, loud enough for the woman to still hear him, but low enough that she could pretend not to.

John shrugged. "Times are getting hard around here. Many of my old customers left the country or died this year, and there is less money around."

Markus agreed with a knowing smile and a nod. He knew about John's real business. It was the reason for his presence. John had always been one of the intermediaries of the Inner Circle, acquiring everything they needed, be it some exotic groceries, some pricey drug or a cheap whore. If you needed something for your next "party among friends", John was your man to get it. He was fairly trustworthy, discreet and had connections all over the land.

"Some of your customers are returning these days," Markus responded, filling John's and his glass. He raised his glass and saluted: "to business."

John narrowed his eyes, but relaxed into a smile again. Following Markus lead, he raised his glass as well: "to the women – may they always be eager and cheap."

Markus rolled his eyes: "Still in the hooker business?"

"Always," John grinned. "Be it war or depression, there will always exist the wish for some warm body to brighten our nights."

"True, true," Markus nodded, thinking about the woman that had been brightening his for the past months.

John recognized that look and grinned knowingly. "I have the feeling I lost a customer in you."

Markus didn't deny it. "There is someone special in my life."

"It's serious?"

"Quite," Markus nodded.

"Pity."

They shared another glass before Markus addressed the matter he wanted to speak about. "Dolohov – he returned to Great Britain."

"Is that a statement or a question?" John asked, watching his friend/former customer warily.

Markus shrugged: "a bit of both. I heard he returned, but haven't seen him since then." He looked up. "I hoped you could help me about that – you know: hooking up and all."

John helped himself with Markus' whiskey and smirked. "I don't think you're his type, Markus."

Markus nodded. "He still has a liking for the small redheads with…" He made a gesture, hinting at a big chest.

"Yeah," John grinned. "The younger the better; and he favours Muggleborns and Squibs – you know: the worthless ones."

Markus suppressed his urge to flinch. Dolohov favoured Muggleborn because he liked to have his fun with them in more ways than one. Not every woman survived his bed room without injuries – or at all. "I assume you already had a request."

"Possible," John gave a one-word reply. "Why do you want to know? You know I can't give you the details."

Markus twirled his half-filled glass in his hand. Emptying it, he replied calmly: "he misbehaved towards the wrong woman."

"Your girl?" John asked. He knew better than Markus how many women returned from a Dolohov business call in need of a healer.

"Yeah," Markus nodded gravely. "I want to make him pay." While Dolohov never actually touched Ophelia, he had tried to force her into marriage. He had blackmailed her brother into giving a magical oath, in the end killing him. It was certainly enough to make Markus sound convincing.

"Dolohov…" John drawled. "is still important." His expression said: _this is a bite too big for you to chew, boy_.

Markus nodded and responded in a hoarse voice: "he killed her brother."

John startled. "He…what?"

"To get her, he killed her brother once blackmailing failed. He was one of our brothers as well." He touched his forearm where the mark had been.

"I see," John nodded slowly.

Markus knew that John despite his easy-going manner was a Death Eater as well. A good ten year older than Markus, he had been one of the last wizards to get the mark in the first war. Because his more or less harmless occupation, he had been able to slip through the DMLE's net last time, spending some months on the Continent until everything cooled down. This time, with a stronger and far more efficient DMLE, it would be more difficult to accomplish such a feat, especially with the closer connections to their European counterparts. Markus counted on this fact to convince John to cooperate.

"Still, it is dangerous to go against him." _Meaning: what do I get in this_?

Slowly Markus fetched something from his pocket and put a small vial on the table.

John eyed it warily. "What's this?"

"Insurance," Markus deadpanned. "In case… some plans go wrong."

"What does it do?"

Markus glanced around before pulling his sleeve back, baring his forearm – his mark-less forearm. John's eyes widened. He glanced around as well before slowly approaching the forearm with his hand. He poked where the mark should have been.

"Hiding the mark?" John instantly realized the worth of such a potion. The mark could be hidden by illusion spells, but it was easy to detect them. The usual means would foul a shopkeeper but not an Auror.

"It's lasting for around a month, give or take a couple of days; not detectable by usual means."

John licked his lips and grabbed the vial. "Where did you get this?" _Can I get more of them_?

"I have my ways," Markus responded with a content grin.

The potion actually did what he promised, if not as well. With a bit of luck an Auror would overlook the small signs and believe that John wasn't a Death Eater. Ophelia had created it, using some of the notes that French Healer bitch left behind. She had been working on the potion at the behest of the Dark Lord, but never finished the research. John was certainly a criminal, but a harmless one in comparison to the rest of the Death Eaters. In Markus mind, dealing in drugs and whores was nothing when others spend their free time with torturing Muggleborns and killing Muggles like rabbits. If John slipped through the Aurors' fingers, he wouldn't lose sleep over it.

"And it really works?"

Markus nodded. "This is how I was able to come back two weeks ago." Naturally they hadn't needed it, with Ophelia never taking the mark and he already getting permanently rid of it.

John thought about it for a while. He had been serious: Dolohov still was important. He could get into real trouble if somehow the current leader of the remaining Death Eaters learned about his part in this. On the other hand he understood the urge to extract revenge. Dolohov surely wasn't well-liked among the death eaters, and for a reason. This vial could easily save his ass should Dolohov's plans not succeed. Like the rest of them, he had heard about the man's grandiose plans for the future. However, there had been too many setbacks this year and the DMLE was breathing down his neck already. Even his victories had been costly most of the time. Perhaps it was time for a little extended holiday.

"What do you need?"

"A time and a place."

.

_**Ministry of Magic – DMLE war room – 24**__**th**__** of October**_

.

The gathered assembly was the same as last time. The mood was tense as there was only one week left until Dolohov's intended date of Voldemort's resurrection. They had to find him and soon. With much relief the attendees noticed the smile on Amelia's face.

"What are they doing here?" Kingsley asked, pointing towards the two persons sitting to Amelia's right. He trusted his boss enough to stay calm, but he really wanted to know why two Death Eaters had been invited to this meeting.

"They are here because I invited them," Amelia calmly responded. "They are here because they have a solution for our most urgent problem."

Kingsley narrowed his eyes and turned towards Ophelia Nott. "You know where Dolohov is hiding?"

Ophelia exchanged a look with Markus before she calmly responded: "we know where he'll be on the 26th."

Kingsley leant back while all around the chamber people started to whisper. Two days – they had two days to prepare for the battle. He nodded appreciatively towards Ophelia, a smile slowly creeping on his face. In two days this horror would end.

.

"This is too dangerous," Kingsley shook his head. Amelia was silently listening to the discussion, her face never betraying how she thought about the topic.

Ophelia had suggested that Markus and she would infiltrate Dolohov's lair disguised as "smiling John" and his red-headed whore. "You certainly realize how helpful it could be to have two wands already within the wards?"

"Yes, yes," Kingsley snarled a little annoyed. "I'm an Auror, not stupid." He narrowed his eyes as Ophelia raised a single eyebrow. "But it is still too dangerous. You aren't trained for such a mission. We should send in a pair of Aurors."

"And pray tell," Ophelia teased him "how convincing will they be? Markus knows many of the men we could meet on our way in. He knows how to behave in a believable way. He knows John. And I've met Vixen in the past. I'll certainly be better at embodying her than any Auror." Vixen was the stage name of John's red-headed whore; not very imaginative but still appropriate. Ophelia had met the women on more than one of her brother's parties, entertaining the guests. The women had hated each other on first sight, but that wouldn't stop her now from impersonating the bitch.

Kingsley growled, mostly because he knew she was right. He still didn't trust them completely, didn't like that they wanted to buy their freedom with the betrayal of their former friends. However, he had to admit that they had a far better chance to pull this off. And it certainly required iron bollocks to dare such a thing. Not that they really needed it. Amelia already promised an amnesty if their information proved to be right. "And what is your plan after getting in?"

Ophelia shrugged. "We have to play it by the ear. We don't know who is there, if there are backdoors or ways to put down the wards. I don't expect that we would be able to take down Dolohov. He is too careful for such a thing. But perhaps we can kill some of the others. It can't be something the plan depends on, I assume."

Kingsley nodded. So she realized how dangerous this was, how high the risk of getting detected too early. She accepted this and was still willing to pull this through. It raised his opinion about the couple a few notches.

"Could you smuggle something into the lair?" Neville asked to everybody's surprise. He pulled something from his bag and put it on the table. It looked like a wet, fist-sized piece of volcanic stone. "Something like this."

"That should be possible," Ophelia agreed after exchanging a questioning look with Markus.

"This is an Earth Magic Beacon," Neville explained. "It's like a homing beacon, allowing me to find my way to you through the Earth."

"So you could kind of apparate to wherever this beacon is? Even through wards?"

Neville pondered the question for a moment. "Supposedly, yes."

"Supposedly? So you aren't certain?"

Neville sighed. "Nothing is certain in life." Hermione rolled her eyes at the platitude. "However, I'm quite certain about it."

Kingsley obviously didn't like the idea to risk the young man's health over this.

"How many could you take with you?" Brychan asked. He was better acquainted with this kind of magic and had a better grasp of the risks and chances.

"That depends," Neville responded slowly. "The more I have to take with me, the less the chance to succeed. Mind Link would be very helpful and familiarity. So, to answer your question: Harry, Daphne, Hermione and at most two or three other Congregation members."

"We'll think about it."

.

_**Foothills of the Grampian Mountains – 25 miles southwest of Aberdeen – 25**__**th**__** of October**_

.

Amelia glanced towards Brychan. He shortly looked up and sent her a small, comforting smile before concentrating on his discussion partner again. The abbot of Iona Abbey was giving him a review of the situation and Bry seemed to like what he heard. Luckily they had been able to get the abbot for organizing the camp. There was a quarter for the Auror team to prepare themselves. A potion lab had been set up, distributing small pouches with some emergency potions to the combatants. Every single participant of the coming battle got two of Snape's Wolfcure Potions. Today was the first night of the Full Moon. With their attack staging right on time for Fenrir's pack to do their worst, it would be madness not to put Snape's potions to good use. Her mind boggled at the cost, but to their relief Sirius Black had simply put 50,000 galleons on the table and ordered 200 vials of the potions. It had been helpful for Professor Snape to have the Congregation's aid in gathering the needed materials.

To the left, the monks of Iona Abbey had set up a hospital. Enough beds to handle every injured Auror, Werewolf or Vampire; five treatment rooms, two of them specially equipped to handle unusual patients – even Centaurs. There was even a small area with anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards to contain wounded Death Eaters should the need arise.

The medical team consisted of a dozen healers, mostly from the Congregation and their allies, but there were also Ildiko and Ol' Mary, Bramasov and Darpa, as well as an older Centaur mare experienced in treating her folk. Nowles was there to treat the most serious cases and even the Greek Healer Jannis was present should one of the house-elves be hit. They had more than a dozen of them at the camp, meant for evacuating the injured from the battlefield. Matron Mathilda's son would lead them, while his mother stayed at the camp: too frail to be part of the fight, but unwilling to stay back at the castle.

It made Amelia feel simultaneously reassured and sick: reassured because she knew they would be able to handle every kind of injury, be it by curse, blade or claw; and sick because she feared with good reason that they would need this. How many of her men wouldn't survive the next day? How many would need treatment, perhaps for weeks and months? There was even the danger of someone getting bitten and the Wolfcure not working. Or the Dementors sucking out one's soul.

The Dementors…

"They are patrolling the whole area, as it seems," Auror Nielsen explained, pointing at some positions on the map. The Danish Auror was leader of her reconnaissance team and had done a fabulous job so far, the most important being not to be seen. "They have at least twenty of them around, perhaps thirty." This was bad news.

"And the Manticores?" They had got a warning from Greece about that special danger. It had been one of the times Amelia cursed like a sailor, which happened more and more often.

"I've seen two of the handlers leading around one of them each. It looked like they wanted to familiarize themselves with the area. But apparently they don't use them for patrols."

"They'll use them as a mobile reserve," Amelia guessed.

"Probably," Nielsen agreed, nodding his head.

"And the Werewolves?"

"We only heard them. Apparently they have an underground lair a bit aside," he pointed onto the map. "We detected at least three exits, one of them close to the main entrance."

Amelia pondered about the situation. She would need to speak with Tremors next, getting information about the wards they had to take down and their own wards they had to raise in time. _Problems, problems, all over the world_, she sighed.

"Tell me about the sentinels."

.

_**Same time – Dolohov's lair**_

.

A dozen baskets filled mostly with raw meat trailing behind her, Hestia Carrow entered the Werewolf den. Two other former students were following her as well as one of the more trustworthy adult Death Eaters. While she had been able to make her "unwillingness" clear – a couple of the men had actually believed her to be an appropriate bedtime sweet – she still didn't trust many of them.

It was different with the students. Within the first twenty-four hours she had been able to ingrain herself as their undisputed leader. A couple of curses and bone-breakers at the first meeting, followed by nearly killing a seventh year stupid enough to attack her while sleeping, and the rest had been more than eager to follow her lead. When the Durmstrang students arrived, she had nicely asked who their leader was. Putting him under a nightmare spell for a couple of minutes – a spell she had learned from her favourite aunt – had worked wonders to cement her position.

Ignoring the catcalls from the primitive brutes around her, she ordered the others to distribute the food. She hated the job but had nonetheless volunteered to have a look at them. There he was, watching her closely, leering like she was some kind of fresh meat. She knew exactly what he had done to her aunt, how he had treated her and destroyed her life by biting her. Hestia Carrow was by no means a nice, sweet girl. She believed in the superiority of witches, despised Muggles and reserved a special hate for Werewolves. In her eyes they were rabid dogs that should be killed on sight to release them from a sorrowful life.

The only point where she differed from her comrades was her opinion about Muggleborn. In her mind, intellect and talent beats everything. There were far too many squibs and near-squibs – Goyle and Crabbe came to mind – to still believe in that "pureblood is better" crap. While not every Muggleborn was a Hermione Granger, there was enough talent among them to make it silly to disregard them. Naturally, she stayed quiet about this. She wasn't stupid or lacking in self-preservation instinct. Slytherin to the core.

Alecto – her aunt had written her only two weeks ago, telling her about the last changes. Instead of comforting her, the letter only infuriated Hestia the more. Learning about Alecto`s past with that vicious animal had been pure torture. Reading about how Dolohov and the other Death Eaters treated her favourite aunt had been even worse. And now this: her aunt was obviously mentally and emotionally broken. It was the only possible explanation for her wish to stay with the Czech Werewolves and care for that 'Claw girl. Fenrir had destroyed everything she had loved about her aunt.

She would visit her when this was over. She had no doubt this silly "we'll resurrect our master and conquer Britain" plan would end soon enough. While she was quite able to play the willing follower, drunken with eagerness to please the Dark Lord, she didn't believe a single word of that bull. No, there was one and only one reason for her presence at this horrid place. And that reason got a broad smile from her right now.

_We'll meet again, Fenrir. Watch your step!_

.

_**Staging area near Aberdeen – 26**__**th**__** of October**_

.

Luna was standing near Tremors and the other curse-breakers, listening only with half an ear, while humming some tune only she knew. Millicent Bulstrode was hovering behind her like a silent shadow, unwilling to leave her side for a single moment. With the help of Helena Ravenclaw, the blonde girl had been able to decipher some of the diadem's powers. Hearing about this, Filius had immediately informed his friend Tremors, who in return had been more than eager to enlist Luna's help.

Now, she was here, feeling a little bored while the curse-breakers made some last minute adjustments to their plan of putting the wards down protecting the area and erect their own. While Dolohov and his men weren't the most accomplished ward-creators, the whole area was quite large and the Goblins had to act in an efficient and fast way, else there was the chance of too many Death Eaters getting away. Amelia wanted to end this today, putting down each and every present follower of Tom Riddle, and Tremors intended to help her in the best possible way.

Millicent barely understood a word from the discussion, but the faces told her that Luna's help was really appreciated. Luna, wearing the diadem, was able to feel magic even better than usual. She had detected a few ward details even Tremors had overlooked, and while she didn't completely understood the theory behind the curse-breakers actions, Luna had been able to find the best positions for the goblins.

"Amelia wants you to accompany her," Tremors suddenly addressed the blonde girl. Millie wanted to intervene, her heart urging her to convince Luna to stay away from the danger, but a single look told her enough. Luna nodded, not missing a single tune. It made sense. With the quartet not being part of the main team, and the curse-breakers more than a little occupied with the greater wards, it would certainly be helpful to have someone like Luna around, to warn against traps waiting for them.

Only Luna would really stand out in this. She was the youngest and by far the smallest team member. Her blond hair was a giveaway and certainly someone would notice the blasted diadem she was carrying. It was difficult not to notice her. And then there was Millie's father. He would be there as well. He knew of Luna and how much she meant to her. He would especially target Luna, trying to maim and kill her. It was one of the reasons why Millie had demanded to be part of the team as well – despite her lack of magical talent. Kingsley hadn't been amused by the request, but luckily Daphne and Hermione had put their foot down. And Daphne even had some good advice for Millie.

"_If you want to defend her, you need to be able to. You can't learn the necessary spells and duelling fast enough, but there are other ways – Muggle ways."_

And so she found herself on the shooting range, getting lessons from Argus Filch on how to handle a gun. Her massive body and strong arms had proven advantageous in handling the weapon, and Argus had been a surprisingly good teacher, more than happy to do this.

She had her gun, she knew how to handle it – now she needed only to see her father's ugly face to make her day – and her mother's day as well.

_Hi Mum, I only wanted to tell you that you have a future again_. A vicious smile crossed her face. _Hi Daddy, have you missed me?_

.

_**Not far away – same time**_

.

"Everything ready?" Harry asked calmly.

Neville nodded. "I can feel the beacon. Strong connection."

"Good," Harry accepted the news with a small smile. He was a bit tense, no surprise there. In no time they would infiltrate the enemy's stronghold, willing to put down whoever stepped in their way. They were quite certain that Riddle was still trapped in his stony prison. That didn't mean he was harmless or could be neglected. Dolohov was a deadly fighter and wouldn't give in easily. Amelia and her task force had to eliminate the double danger of Werewolves and Dementors. And nobody knew if Bella had found her way into the lair as well; her presence could prove to be a deadly and very unwelcome surprise.

Harry glanced towards the girls. "Any chance we could convince them to stay back?"

Neville snickered and didn't even answer the silly question. Harry sighed. Neville was right. Hell would freeze over before Daphne and Hermione would allow them to continue on their own. At least Ana and Brychan would be there, the two having been chosen as their "governesses" in their little endeavour.

Yes, everything was ready. Now they had to do the most difficult: stay calm and wait for the signal.

.

_**Near Aberdeen – a wee bit later**_

.

"Ready?" Markus asked, slight concern audible in his voice. They were near the edge of the area that belonged to Dolohov's lair. Thanks to his magic, Markus could already see a pair of Dementors patrolling the rolling hills in front of them and over there was a small shack, inhabited by a trio of human guards.

Ophelia took a halting breath and nodded, showing more determination than she felt. "Ready!"

Both had already drunk their potions a couple of minutes ago, a special blend of the Polyjuice Potion, created by Severus Snape to have a longer duration. Hopefully they wouldn't need that, but it was better to stay on the safe side. Markus assured for a last time that he had the Earth Magic Beacon on his body. Should they get separated, he probably would be freer in his activities. He used the beacon to send a signal – the first of a number of signals they had agreed upon: _ready_!

The couple mounted his broom with Markus sitting in the front and Ophelia showing a little skin as her dress was riding up her legs. A minute later they approached the shack and found themselves at the receiving end of a trio of wands, ready to curse them should the guards suspect anything.

"Wands down," Markus drawled convincingly. "You don't want to blemish the merchandise." He guffawed a little and pinched Ophelia's thigh, earning him a slap in return: "only Antonin is allowed to touch, tight-arse. You still owe me for last time."

Markus shrugged and grinned towards the guards: "women."

Two of the guards were junior Death Eaters while the third one appeared to be an ex-Durmstrang student. He lifted a notepad and read: "John Blemish and… companion?"

"Call me smiling John," Markus said with a toothy grin.

Ophelia shortly caressed the young man's cheek, making him blush. "You can call me everything as long as your money is good – but not tonight."

The young man harrumphed and blushed even more as his comrades commented his reaction with a round of cackles. "Boss is awaiting them."

One of the other Death Eaters mounted his own broom and led the way, making certain that there was no incident with the patrolling Dementors.

Markus glanced around and sent the second signal. _We're in_!

.

Ten minutes later they followed another Death Eater through the corridors of the manor Dolohov used as his lair. Markus noticed a couple of wards, traps and hidden guards, wishing he could inform the waiting main force about it. However, the time had been too short to learn more than a handful of signals – signals including the one he hopefully wouldn't need: _leaked out_! Markus didn't know but the signals used a kind of Morse code, the signals chosen by Harry who read a book about American Telegraphy.

The whole manor was a bit crowded as it seemed and Markus soon realized that they had underestimated the forces Dolohov had been able to gather. Hopefully they would be able to knock out a few of them. He especially hated the idea of the students getting killed. He knew more than one among them and not everybody was a cold-blooded killer. Quite contrary he assumed that most of them were only present because they had obeyed their parents' wishes.

And then there was Pansy's father. To Markus' surprise he had noticed the man brooding in the ground floor's entrance hall, barely looking up as they entered. The last he heard about them was that the Parkinsons tried to stay neutral in the fight, not drawing attention to them and certainly not fighting on either side. Now it seemed that Pansy would wake tomorrow without a dad.

The guard led them up the stairs to the first floor. A few Death Eaters hang around there, languidly glancing down, playing cards or fooling around. The mood was relaxed mostly, but it was obvious that more than one of them had no real wish to be here. It wouldn't save them from the Aurors' deadly spells or their even deadlier bullets. Fear and loyalty to their families would urge them to return fire and not to run away as their survival instinct told them. _Poor souls_!

"Hi Honey!"

His dark thoughts had distracted him long enough to reach their destination without Markus noticing. Through the open door he looked into a big, lavishly furnished room. Antonin Dolohov was sitting there with Mulciber, Travers and a couple other Death Eaters, drinking wine and enjoying the evening. He acknowledged Markus with a curt nod, before greeting "Vixen" with a cruel smile. John had told him, that Dolohov liked to mix sex with pain, but limited himself to the more harmless variants with Vixen as he liked her enough to spare her the scars many other whores received in his bedroom.

"Follow me!" The guard ordered and lead him away. The last thing he saw of Ophelia before the door was closed was Dolohov dragging her onto his lap. He could only hope that she would be alright.

.

"Sorry, buddy."

Markus shoved the unconscious guard into the broom closet, not forgetting to snap his wand for good measure. He had followed him to the guest room, a sparsely furnished two bed room on the back of the manor. Hopefully nobody would notice the man's disappearance within the next couple of minutes, but he wanted to ascertain that he didn't stroll into his room at the wrong moment. And perhaps he even saved his life.

"Somnus!" That should do the job. With a bit of luck the young guard would only awake from the magical slumber when all fighting was done.

Now however, he had a job to do. Until now the attack on the manor hadn't started. Kingsley had agreed that he would wait an hour at most after the couple entered the manor. If he didn't sent the signal until then, the task force would open fire without the quartet making use of Neville's earth transport capabilities. He glanced at his watch. _Thirty-eight minutes. Let's start the show_.

Putting silencing and locking charms on the door, Markus pulled the beacon from its hiding place and put it on the floor. He sent the signal. Now he had to wait, perhaps the hardest part. If something happened, if someone wanted to see him right now or noticed the missing guard… Markus suppressed the thought.

Suddenly the ground started to glow slightly. Hastily he put a spell on the window to block out the light. _Why didn't they tell him about this_? The reddish light got brighter and little bumps appeared in the carpet, first one, then two, until Markus saw six of them. They started to rise from the ground, lifting the carpet in doing so. With a swish of his wand the carpet was moved aside. It looked like earthen snowmen were growing from the floor. When they had reached human size, the earthen shells started to fall to the ground and one by one Harry and his friends became visible, with Ana Hernandez and Brychan Camwy guarding the flanks.

Glancing around, their slightly glazed over eyes slowly clearing, they focussed on the sole other inhabitant of the room.

Markus showed a toothy grin. "Welcome to my humble abode."

.

_**A/N**_

_I really hoped that I would be able to publish my last chapters at shorter intervals. However, I simply have too much on my plate right now and I'll have to stay with the "one chapter every two weeks" schedule. _


	32. Chapter 32 You're going down (part 2)

**You're going down (Part 2)**

.

_**Main Team Staging Area – 26**__**th**__** of October evening**_

.

_**Amelia**_

Amelia didn't really like the idea of opening the attack under a full moon. Despite magic and nightscopes, magical illumination and rocket flares, the sight would be limited for her human forces. Even worse was the fact that Fenrir and his men would be able to use their Werewolf abilities to their fullest tonight. While they had no choice about the date – they only knew Dolohov would be here today – there had been a serious discussion about the best starting time of the attack. A fight under the midday sun would have been far less dangerous for her Aurors. However, in the end the decisive factor had been Amelia's wish to end this war once and for all. While she had done her best to prepare her men and to minimize the losses, there was only one possible outcome: at the end of the night there wouldn't be anymore organized Death Eater activity in Great Britain. She wanted to neutralize each and every Death Eater following Dolohov, and even more she intended to utterly destroy Fenrir's pack, sending a clear signal to all European Werewolves: stay away from Britain if you can't live in peace with your neighbours.

Despite all the changes of the past year, it had been as easy as expected to get Minister Fudge's approval on her "shoot to kill" order – at the end of the day Fudge still didn't recognize Werewolves as fully human. Today his racism was an advantage for a change. Fenrir had gathered the most vicious and bloodthirsty Werewolves of half Europe. If Amelia got her wish, none of them would see the morning light. The full moon, while allowing them to change and fight as wolves, would make them overconfident as well and less inclined to flee. Her Aurors would make good use of that fact.

"All for one and one for all."

Amelia smiled faintly watching Kingsley, Robards, Scott and Macôme high-fiving each other. Kingsley would lead the advance team together with Auror Nielsen, with Amelia commanding the main force. Robards and Scott lead four-man teams as side protections while Macôme had a tiny flying squad, mostly to scout the area and warn them in case of ambushes and incoming reinforcements of the enemy. Hopefully there wouldn't be any, as many former Death Eaters and sympathizers seemingly had a "wait and see" attitude, carefully hiding and watching the success of Dolohov's actions. To her relief Augusta had agreed to coordinate the few defenders of the hospital, staying out of immediate danger. She at least would be safe tonight, with Matron Mathilda keeping her company.

She wasn't too happy about the presence of the other civilians but conceded that they could be really useful. While Filius stayed with the main curse-breaker team under Tremors, five civilians were part of her and Kings' teams. Narcissa Black and Severus Snape, both very competent duellists and with a broad knowledge of the curses used by their former comrades, would stay with her, while Bill Weasley had been assigned to Kings' team as his main curse-breaker. Amelia was slightly ill seeing the small blond girl staying at his side, but at least she had her personal watchdog. One of the French Aurors had tried to belittle Millicent Bulstrode because of her age and appearance, but a single glare – and her chambering a round of her pump action shotgun – had been enough to silence him.

Perhaps even weirder was the presence of the Goblins. Not only had Madam Ironsides decided to support the attack with a number of curse-breakers as agreed upon. In addition she had – after hearing about the Manticore danger – added a dozen of her finest warriors. Wearing deadly looking swords, pointy spears and a couple of weapons Amelia had no idea what they were meant to be, they had been allocated to the different teams, the bulk naturally staying with her.

A last glance onto her wrist watch: "it's time. Let's go and greet our hosts."

.

_**Kingsley **_

"_Your task is to gather their attention."_

Amelia's order had been straightforward, and Kingsley had every intention to make her proud. Six Aurors, three civilians and two Goblins were following him as he approached the starting position. For a moment he had a dreadful feeling as his gaze lingered on one of the many Dementors filling the plain in front of them. The destination was the front entrance of the main building. Amelia would follow his team with the main force, covering their approach and hopefully put down any Death Eaters leaving the annex. The estate was formed like a "U", with two smaller buildings connecting to the main one. The right annex seemed to be mostly deserted, while the left one was illuminated.

"There are wards and traps hidden all over the courtyard." Luna Lovegood's voice was gentle and carefree as if she were talking about the weather. "Let me show you." She made a gesture and seconds later both Bill Weasley and Kingsley were able to see the maze of traps as well. The pattern was quite simple, presumably to avoid unnecessary deaths among the inhabitants of the estate. You "simply" had to orient yourself by the windows of the building to stay clear – while dodging the crossfire from all sides.

"Ready?" Kingsley asked, glancing around. He got eleven nods in return and gestured Auror Nielsen to start the fun. The Danish Auror actually grinned as he pulled his newest toy out of his special backpack. A team of Danish Unspeakables had done a splendid job to allow the high-tech to be operated safely despite being stored in a magical bag with feather-light and endless-bottom charms on it. One rocket-thrower, four rockets – Nielsen expected the main building to be at least partially protected against such a weapon. The guards' shack however was another matter.

A last glance towards Kingsley, a nod from his commander, and Nielsen aimed carefully before he pulled the trigger. One of the guards in the shack actually saw the rocket on its way, the flight time allowing him to wonder about the nature of this "thing". It was the last thought that crossed his befuddled mind, before a crashing explosion rocked the night.

_Wakey, wakey! Who is it? The DMLE._

.

_**Filius**_

The starting signal was really unmissable. A second after the explosion thundered all over the area, Tremors' team of curse-breakers finished their work with a last gesture of their leader. Five curse-breakers followed their leader's example, using their abilities to their fullest to accomplish to tasks in rapid succession: pull Dolohov's wards down and erect their own. Dolohov's wards were luckily quite pathetic. Perhaps he hadn't gotten enough time to accomplish more, or he hadn't expected them to be necessary. They were mostly wards against magical intrusion, to warn the inhabitants and to keep Muggles and animals away. The rocket for example had no problem to transgress the frontier. The Goblins made short work of the wards, the power potions they imbibed beforehand allowing them to erect their own wards in barely thirty seconds. It was crude work and Tremors would sack any ward-creator offering such a ward to a client, but it was working and did its job for now.

Tremors gave Filius a curt nod. While they didn't expect to be attacked, it was always good to have a duellist of his calibre watching your back.

"Advance!"

Slowly, to allow Kingsley and Amelia to draw attention to their teams, his own men advanced towards their next job: the wards protecting the manor itself.

_It was a good day for curse-breaking._

.

_**Ophelia**_

Ophelia felt ill simply from being here near Dolohov. Mulciber and Travers kept him company, discussing nothing serious in her presence but only fooling around. Dolohov was a bit distracted, and so far he was only groping her a bit, his hands wandering where they shouldn't be. The worst? She had to act like she not only endured but actually liked this. She refilled his glass as often as possible without behaving suspiciously, toasting him from time to time, while the purifying potion in her blood prevented any drunken behaviour on her side.

There had been no alarm so far, so hopefully Markus was still undetected and able to complete his part. Ophelia sighed, hiding it with a dazzling smile and her left hand wandering southwards along Dolohov's body. He showed her a knowing smirk that made her feel even more ill. Hopefully everything worked out as intended. She knew that she had no chance to put Dolohov down herself. She was only a mediocre duellist. Her success in the last battle had only been due to the element of surprise and quite some deviousness on her part – deviousness and the heavy use of potions. Dolohov on the other hand had earned his position because he was one of the three best duellists among the Inner Circle members, the other being Bellatrix LeStrange and Severus Snape. One a traitor in his former comrades' eyes, one disappeared Merlin knew where – this left only Dolohov around. However, she still could do her part and at least watch others put him down like a mad dog, and perhaps at the right time and place she could even throw a curse or two in his direction for good measure.

Suddenly a loud boom rocked the room. Seconds later, Ophelia found herself on the floor with a hurting bottom. Dolohov had tossed her aside like an old cushion and rushed to the window, barking orders to everybody in range. Ophelia carefully hid her grin.

The party was only starting.

.

_**Harry**_

"It's starting," Harry stated, his senses "listening" to the magic around the manor. Seconds later alarms were sounding through the corridors, confirming his statement and sending the inhabitants running towards the entrance. Within minutes a serious battle would erupt there, casualties mounting on both sides. Harry shuddered at the thought.

"Can you feel him?" Brychan asked Harry and Neville. Both nodded. While Harry still hadn't completely lost the connection to Riddle and was still able to feel him like a weak echo, Neville had no problems in locating the stone body he had created months ago to incarcerate Riddle's soul. Harry pointed towards a point somewhere below, and Neville agreed.

"Let's go."

Markus however stayed and smiled weakly. "I won't accompany you."

"You have to find Ophelia," Daphne understood. She hadn't forgiven the woman for her part in the attack on Pinegrew Manor, but was willing to give her a second chance. Ophelia certainly had shown her heart-felt willingness to change for the better.

Markus nodded. "I left her in Dolohov's company. Hopefully he's too occupied with the attack to bother about her presence." He gave Harry a pat on the shoulder. "Good luck."

"You as well."

.

_**Hestia**_

"What…?"

Oliver Montague's eyes widened comically as he watched Gordon Prewitt sink to the floor – sans head. While Oliver, a fifth year Slytherin, was only here because of his older brother and would never rise far in the harsh world of the Death Eaters, Prewitt had been a shining example to his comrades so far. A distant cousin of Molly Weasley, who would be ashamed to be reminded of him, he had killed, tortured and raped with a vigour adulated by many younger Death Eaters. Now he was dead, killed by Hestia Carrow with a point black Reducto to his ugly head.

"Why did you kill him?" Oliver asked hoarsely.

"You know why," Hestia sneered back. And he actually did. Prewitt liked little boys, the younger the better, not caring for their own preferences or willingness. More than one ex-students had to endure his advances this week, and Oliver had only been saved because his brother would have killed the pervert had he touched him. Hestia had done her best to stop him, but hadn't been completely successful. These students had followed her and she felt responsible for them. Now he would never molest anybody again.

"Dolohov will punish you for this." Oliver looked frightened. Not for the first time Hestia wondered how he had ever been sorted into Slytherin.

"Only if he hears about it," she said with a smirk. "Obliviate!" Before Oliver had a chance to recover from the memory altering spell, she put him under a Somnus, pushed the sleeping boy under a table and hid him with a disillusion spell. He would be safe for now and hopefully survive the battle. House Montague would still have an heir after all this mess. She couldn't know what would happen fifteen minutes later.

After a last glance around, Hestia Carrow left the room. She had a Werewolf to catch.

.

_**Fenrir**_

Fenrir was a happy Werewolf right now. Blood was in the air. The moon's silvery light illuminated the night. Tonight his men would spill blood. They would maim and kill, infect and curse. It would be a happy night, mostly because Jessica Treskow would die as well. He sensed her presence. Fabian wasn't around, presumably still too injured to take part in the battle. So, he would have the woman all for himself. Ripping her apart, limb for limb would make his heart soar. He would enjoy feasting on her corpse, sending her hands back to Fabian Treskow to make him weep like a little child.

Fenrir snarled at his lieutenant. "Take half of the men and advance through the main gate tunnel. Wait until the attackers engage the crew guarding the entrance, before charging in." The man nodded. He was experienced enough to follow the plan without messing it up all too much.

"The rest of you follows me," he commanded, his strong wolf legs already pumping. He intended to use another exit, partially because it would allow him to attack the Aurors from the rear, but mostly because he felt that she would be there – Jessica.

.

_**England – in the middle of nowhere near York**_

.

She had left Cornwall, licking her wounds and recovering from the fight. She knew this area, had lived here decades ago before she was exiled more or less willingly to Romania. Her old cave had been mostly empty on her return, the sole black bear scrambling to get away after a small roar from her side. Injured as she was, a whole bunch of bears wouldn't stand a chance against her fury. She was better now, able and willing to continue her flight.

_He will help me. He simply has to._

After a restless night she had been able to come up with a name. She knew now who could help her in her need. They were similar and different at the same time. At their first meeting two years ago, she had felt his inner fire, the same fire that burned in her body. Would he be willing to follow her, to help her race? What had she to offer in return? Her nature not unlike a Slytherin, she didn't believe in helping others without getting something in return. She needed a bargaining chip. Thinking about his nature, she had found something. It was something precious for him. Hopefully he would realize it as well.

She left the cave and shook her body, unfurling her mighty wings. A few strokes of her wings lifted her in the air, bending the tree tops around her, as she started her long way north. Catriona, called dorcha corraich – gloomy wrath – by her enemies, was on her way to Hogwarts.

.

_**Kingsley**_

Kingsley bashed the cutting curse aside with a flick of his wand, reciprocating the fire with a pair of Lanceas that didn't hit his opponent but forced him into cover. They were advancing against a slightly fortified position and the enemy had the advantage of numbers. Normally they shouldn't be able to win, but luckily they faced mostly inexperienced fighters. Shit, that boy lying on the ground over there, blood pooling around his body, was barely sixteen. Rightfully, he shouldn't be here, but he was, willing to send dark curses against Kingsley's men.

So far he hadn't lost a single man, partly because of the superb teamwork of Bill and Luna. The blonde girl noticed every single trap and ward waiting for them, marked them and allowed Bill to disable them, her strange ability to pour details about their workings directly into his mind certainly helping the curse-breaker. Kingsley would demand a hefty bonus in his name from Tremors – if they survived this.

Kingsley glanced to the left as he heard Nielsen's snicker. Three Dementors were advancing towards their flank, only to be stopped by a swarm of colourful butterflies. The dark creatures got distracted by the tiny creations of Luna's magic, even seemed to fear them. In any case, it made it easy for his men to herd them together with two Patronus for Nielsen to destroy them with a Carnifex spell. So far they had destroyed eight of the creatures, and the rest had gotten more careful.

"Bombarda Spell!" Luna's scream warned them just in time and the trio of blasting spells only hit a wall of Protego shields, stopping and shocking them for a couple of seconds but not hurting anybody.

Kingsley used the moment to have a long look around. There was only token resistance in front of them anymore. A couple of students had fled to the imagined safety of the manor, while others had been killed or knocked unconscious. Barely a handful was stopping them from reaching the courtyard now, with many of the more dangerous Death Eaters lying in wait over there. Amelia was following slowly, eager to take part in the fight, but still waiting for an ambush to spring. No Werewolves or Manticores had made an appearance so far.

Kingsley feared the moment that would change. "Come on!"

.

_**Markus**_

It was a bit creepy to walk the empty corridors, hearing the sounds of battle but meeting nobody so far. Markus slowly advanced upstairs, his feet feeling the soft carpet under his soles that dampened the sounds of his steps. He was awaiting an attack any moment, but so far had only found signs of hastily departed inhabitants. There Parkinson had been drinking, the half-emptied glass still waiting for him. Over there at the upturned table a pair of Hogwarts students had been snogging, trying to forget the dangers ahead for a couple of hours.

After some long minutes the door to Dolohov's room came in sight. Walking down the floor as stealthily as his hulking body allowed, he heard the sound of shattering glass and a choked scream of pain. Forgetting any wish to stay silent, he raced towards the door and shouldered it open, only to be greeted by an incredible sexy sight. Ophelia/Vixen was standing there, one foot on the chest of an unconscious man, her ankle and half of her thigh clearly visible. She had a broken crystal carafe in her hand and greeted Markus with a lifted eyebrow and a little pout.

She lifted the carafe and uttered: "that was really good bourbon." She kicked the man in the ribs. He didn't object, unconscious that he was. "Son of a bitch," she muttered.

"You alright?" Markus asked with a soft and concerned voice.

Instead of an answer she glared at him: "where have you been so long? Flirting with the maids?"

Markus shrugged and grinned broadly. "You know me, Pheli. Always looking for cute little bottoms."

Her eyes blazing, her hips swaying, Ophelia/Vixen sashayed towards him. "There is only one bottom you are allowed to enjoy." She halfway turned around and pointed towards her backside. "This one."

"Nah," Markus shook his head. "I like the real one better, not the polyjuiced."

"Good answer," Ophelia grinned, swatting his chest. She listened for the sounds of battle for a moment and sighed. "Everything worked out alright?"

Markus nodded.

"Let's go, I don't want to get his by a stray spell."

"Yeah, we have done our job. Now the real heroes can have their fun."

.

_**Harry**_

"Careful," Ana put her hand on Harry's shoulder to stop his advance. She narrowed her eyes and glanced towards the corridor as if searching for something. "My gut is telling me…"

She hesitated, but Daphne nodded. "There is something ahead, some kind of illusion." Daphne waved her wand and the sight of the corridor vanished, only to be replaced by a Muggle-like spear trap that had been hidden so far. "Really? A Spear trap of all things?" Daphne wondered, not expecting such a Muggle defence in a Death Eater lair.

"Must have been Mulciber's work," Brychan explained. "He's one of a handful of Death Eaters that spent some time hunting beasts, mostly together with McNair." That actually made sense, Harry mused. There were many creatures around immune to magic – like the Manticores they brought in. A simple spear trap was deadly even for them, especially with goblin-blade tipped spears and coated with some kind of poison as it seemed to be the case with these. Following a gut feeling, he accio-ed one of the spears into his hand. "Trophy," he only mumbled as an explanation.

Avoiding the trap they continued their way, only to hear a couple of men running ahead.

"Dolohov?" Harry guessed.

"Presumably," Brychan agreed. "Do you still feel his body?" He asked Neville.

The young man nodded in return: "straight ahead."

"If we meet resistance," Brychan decided, "Ana and I will take care of them. You charge ahead."

"Got it."

.

"Blasted mother fu…" Hermione's voice dropped to an angry grumble, ignoring the amused looks of her friends. They actually shared the feeling. As expected, they had met a trio of Death Eaters charging ahead towards Riddle's body. Dolohov had instantly bolted, with Harry and his friends hot on his heels. Mulciber and Travers however had tried to delay them. Ana and Bry were now battling them somewhere behind. Harry had no doubt who would win, but they would need some time to overcome the experienced Death Eaters.

Following Dolohov around the next corner, careful not to fall for an ambush or spring a trap, they had just crossed a door only to come to a stop in this weird room. At least Harry assumed it was a simple room. It was difficult to decide with a visible range of barely arm's reach. It was very dark, with even darker clouds of pure iciness hovering around. Even a Lumos maximus wasn't enough to vanish the darkness.

"Carnifex," Harry cast, forming the fiery whip into a coil that surrounded them. "There are Dementors out there." His friends nodded.

Hermione pointed to the right. "There is some kind of flame, I can feel it."

"You're right," Harry agreed. "Several flames actually, I can feel them as well. Blackflames?"

Hermione frowned but agreed. Blackflames were, as the name said, a fire that burned with a black flame. It was barely visible in complete darkness and combined fire with icy coldness, causing freezer burn on touch. "I assume it strengthens the Dementors in its vicinity."

"Won't help them much," Harry grumbled. Even without Harry and Neville sensing Riddle's presence down the road, it would have been clear that this room only served one purpose: to protect something very special.

"No, but it will delay us and time is running short," Daphne responded. "We have to be fast."

Hermione flinched as to her right a shadow appeared. It recoiled from the Carnifex flame, screeching in pain. Neville reacted instinctively, sending a fist of flame and stone towards the creature. It didn't destroy it, but sent it flying and apparently caused some damage. Before it vanished into the shadows again, Harry hit it with an Ignis terrestris. His attack was a combination of fire and stone as well, only his contained far more fire and light than Neville's spell and the result was far graver. It punched a fist-sized hole through its "chest", killing or at least gravely injuring it.

"That's far more strenuous than it should be," Harry hissed.

"It's the impact of the Blackflame," Hermione guessed. Waving her hands, she created a greyish mist that rapidly filled the room around them. For a moment her friends second-guessed the intelligence behind the act, as it even worsened the sight. Then however her reasoning became clear, as the mist first started to cover the Dementors before it spread further and reached the source of the Blackflame. There were at least four braziers with the unholy fire dancing in.

Knowing what to do, Daphne's air pushed the Dementors back while Harry started to take them down with his fire. Neville however supported them indirectly, covering the braziers with summoned cases of pure granite, perhaps extinguishing the Blackflame but at least stopping their effect. With every passing moment it got easier to put the Dementors out, with the room slowly getting brighter and warmer.

All of this however counted for nothing as Neville announced with a hint of panic in his voice: "he's breaking the earthen bonds. He's breaking him free."

.

_**Antonin**_

He was pale with rage. How could this happen? He had been so close to get his master back. In five days' time he would have executed the ritual. His master would have gotten a new body and everything would have been as it should be. And then they found his lair and actually dared to attack it. He was able to feel the fight, the presence of dozens of fighters. The wards told him of wizards, Werewolves and Vampires. Apparently there were even a number of those ghastly beasts out there called Centaurs.

Far worse was that some of them had been able to breach his security. He had no idea how it was even possible, but there was no denying: more than a handful of them where right in the middle of his lair. There had only one possible solution for him: he had to execute the ritual right now, with haste and far less time than he wished for. While the real body, meant to house his master's soul for decades at least, was still far away, he had prepared a temporary solution. It was the body of a younger Death Eater who had willingly – alright: Imperio-willingly but that counted in his mind – given his body for this purpose. Prepared with runes and potions, it wouldn't keep for very long, but certainly long enough for his master to reach safety.

It was a risk but he had to take it. With such an attack underway and some of his enemies already far too close, he had to act now. He simply couldn't risk for them to win. Everything would be over, his dreams of a pureblood future gone.

Dolohov hissed as he came eye to eye with the Potter brat. His friends were with him along that Spanish bitch and Amelia's little lover-boy. "Delay them," he hissed towards Mulciber and Travers, realizing that he sent them to their graves with that command. They nonetheless obeyed without hesitation.

Dolohov closed the door behind him. He had a ritual to finish.

.

_**Bulstrode**_

Bulstrode was not a happy overgrown puppy right now. The heavyweight man was running around, screaming and yelling at his man to get them into position, cursing that neither Dolohov nor any of the other Inner Circle members had shown up so far. He had a feeling that his boss had other things to do, things about their stone-bodied master. A few minutes ago, Rastaban LeStrange had been there, only to vanish the moment the fighting started. Only Parkinson was still around, not that he believed the man to be of any real help.

Two of his men just opened the door and allowed a handful of students to slip into the entrance hall, the last survivors of the trainee group sent to delay the DMLE's advance. An explosion shook the room and dust trickled from the ceiling. "Blasted Muggle weapons," he fumed. He hated those contraptions but had started to fear them. There was no real defence against them and none of his men had any experience on how to protect themselves against gunfire and those explosive thingies.

He glanced outside. The Dementors kept their distance since the Aurors started to attack them with those flame whip spells. Right now one of the tossed a kind of stone towards a Dementor. As it hit the cloaked creature, the stone exploded into a cloud of light and flames, engulfing the Dementor and made it scream in an unearthly and terrifying manner. He had no idea that those stone where the result creation of Harry and Daphne's team-work, combining his rune knowledge with both fire and air magic. In any case: it seemed to work and thirty seconds later only smouldering cloak bits remained.

"Millie," Bulstrode whispered hoarsely. He couldn't believe it. She was here, ready to defy him again. His daughter had to know he would be around, and still she was part of the attack team. But why? Why would Bones…

Seconds later he understood. It was a tiny and very blond reason, a reason following a black-skinned, bald Auror around like a lost puppy – Lovegood. That was that Lovegood chick. Bulstrode had heard about the disgusting relation his daughter entertained instead of thinking about a good and normal one with some pureblood heir. He sneered and gripped his wand tighter. They would pay for this blasphemy. He would kill the girl, painfully, and his daughter would have to watch. Yes, Millie would come back to her senses, he would see to that.

.

_**Jessica**_

Fenrir snarled happily as he detected the group of Werewolves waiting for them. He didn't recognize all of them, but over there was Ralough and at his side Jessica. Thirteen against nine – he liked that numbers. Ordering his men to attack, he advanced slowly. He kept a wary eye on Ralough who was met by the Anram brothers, two of his newest pack additions.

One the right flank, five of his men clashed with the trio of Czech Werewolves. As usual Sladjan was fighting in the middle, Branka and Ondras protecting his flanks. They were well-attuned in their fighting style, but their opponents weren't slackers either. Two of them occupied Sladjan, dancing around him, dodging and evading mostly instead of attacking on their own. Ondras fought furiously, while trying to get closer to Sladjan. He hoped to trip one of his friend's opponents, allowing his pack-mate to get close enough to take him down.

Suddenly a scream followed by a gurgle stopped Ondras cold. Executing a backflip before he allowed himself to glance around, he saw Branka on the ground. She had been locked in a duel with one of Fenrir's Werewolves, as the fifth fighter had been able to circle them and stab her in the back. Sladjan roared, but was unable to come to Branka's aid, while Ondras was too far away. Rushing towards his friend, his speed allowing him to dodge a last attack of his own opponent, he helplessly watched with horror how the backstabbing bastard clawed at Branka's neck, raising her head and allowing his pack-mate bite her throat, ripping it out in the process, before he stood up again to show his bloody snout. With a furious scream Ondras jumped and tackled Branka's killer. Forgetting his usual more dance-like fighting still, he allowed his Werewolf instincts to take over completely. He clawed at his opponent and bit in his shoulder. Seconds later Sladjan joined the fun like his two opponents and it all ended in a ball of teeth and claws, biting and snarling, without anybody being able to tell where one Werewolf ended and the next started.

Jessica regretfully had no time to spare to watch them. She was more than a little occupied with Fenrir Greyback himself. The brutish Werewolf had revealed his newest toy only moments ago, some kind of blades attached to his forearms, obviously crafted from some silvery metal and coated with some kind of paste that didn't look healthy. For a while she was able to dodge his attacks and even landed a couple of hits, not slowing him down in the slightest. She really missed Fabian right now. Jessica had always been more of a scout and ambusher, not a frontline fighter. Suddenly burning pain rolled through her leg. She had dodged an attack a moment too late, allowing Fenrir to sink his claws and the blade into her thigh. They left behind deep marks, one of them fuming and burning from the silver, while the poison instantly started to spread in her blood.

Jessica jumped back, hoping the broadband antidote she had used beforehand would protect her long enough, but she felt herself slow down. She wasn't able to dodge every attack anymore and slowly the cuts and slashes mounted up. The loss of blood made her dizzy and the silver traces was burning all over. A vicious backhand hit the side of her head and nearly knocked her out. The strike sent her to the ground. Feebly she tried to get up again but Fenrir left her no chance. He jumped on her chest and smashed her into the ground. He started to pound her into submission and within moments Jessica felt her field of vision getting smaller as unconscious started to grab hold of her.

_Was this the end of her long struggle to stay human despite the curse?_

.

_**Kingsley**_

It was pure hell that greeted them as they stormed the barricade. Neither Peruvian darkness powder nor the earth wall rune stone Neville created and distributed among his men earlier were enough to completely shield them against the crossfire awaiting them. Amelia's main force was forming a half-circle behind his men, trying to force the Death Eaters in both wings under cover, while Kingsley's team attacked the entrance. The main door was already seriously damaged from a pair of rockets, but it still held so far.

Kingsley jumped to the left, barely dodging a sickeningly purple spell. _Some kind of entrails eviscerating spell_, Kingsley mused. He reciprocated with a flash light spell on the windows to buy his men a couple of seconds of respite. Fate wanted none of that, obviously, as a number of yowls curled his blood and forced him to look around. Within seconds the right flank was under heavy pressure, as a large number of Werewolves streamed out of a hole that had suddenly appeared in the ground and charged Scott's team.

The Aurors tried to take them down but were hardly pressed by the ferocity and sheer number of their opponents, as three Vampires flashed into sight and joined the fight. Two of them had changed their appearance into something beastlike, with claws and fangs of their own, now exchanging blows with some of the Werewolves and removing some of the pressure on Scott's team. The Vampires' leader – Shaeffer as far as Kingsley remembered – waded into the battle with a heavy revolver in his left and a slender silver sword in the right, cutting a path of screaming and dying Werewolves as he approached Scott.

It was a sight to behold as those weird comrades met, exchanging a curt nod before fighting back to back, with Scott using Reductos to blast the Werewolves away and Cutting Curses to take them down, while Shaeffer lazily blasted their heads away with silver bullets. Within barely three minutes the expected disaster turned into a full rout of the Werewolf force.

_However, where was Fenrir with the rest of his pack?_

.

_**Hestia**_

A young woman, not even of age and certainly not of completely sane mind, intended to answer that question right now. Fenrir just lowered his mighty fang to rip Jessica's throat out, as something connected with his head. It was a much focussed and quite strong Reducto spell, with enough force behind it to break his lower jaw and send him flying. Jessica was hit by the spell as well, but luckily only the tail of it. Still, it sent her head over heels, far enough from Fenrir to allow the surprise attacker to continue her attack without endangering her. For a second she thought that part had been planned, but a glance in Hestia Carrow's mad eyes convinced her otherwise. The young woman didn't even notice the other people around. Luckily Ralough did. The experienced warrior grabbed one of Fenrir's packmates who tried to come to his leader's rescue. He stopped that nonsense by breaking his neck with a mighty jerk of his powerful arms.

Hestia didn't notice. She had only eyes for Fenrir. Before he had a chance to react, to recognize the origin of the new danger, she sent a spell towards him. It looked like a cutting curse, only this was burning and hissing as it crossed the short distance, bit into his ankle and cut his right foot clean off. Fenrir screamed in pain as the magic of the spell not only cost him his appendix but also cauterized the wound, sending waves of pain through his body.

"You bitch, I will…"

_Idiot_, Jessica mused, too weak to intervene. She didn't have to, a look around told her. Her pack had won the fight. Sladjan was still clawing at a Werewolf that looked already quite dead to her. Two or three Werewolves had been able to flee the scene – at least until Ondras outrun them, she supposed. The slender Werewolf was as mad as his big brother because of Branka's death. Jessica wasn't surprised, when Fenrir's speech was interrupted by a second spell and a second scream. This time he lost his left hand. Jessica shuddered. Even if she wanted to, she wouldn't intervene, not with that expression on the girl's face. She looked vaguely familiar.

Ralough stopped the rest of the team. "She's avenging her aunt." Jessica nodded. Yes, now she recognized the facial features. She was a Carrow. The Werewolves stopped and formed a loose half ring around Hestia Carrow and her victim, careful not to stay in her field of fire. Fenrir actually tried to hobble towards the girl, threatening her with his remaining claw and the still attached silver blades. A wicked smile crossed the girl's face.

"Incarcerus argenteus!" Every Werewolf in sight flinched as magical chains of silver shackled him. The girl hadn't done this out of opportunity. This was a planned revenge. Fenrir yowled in pain as his fur started to fume from the contact.

"Accio silver blades!" The blades ripped off, only to be banished right back, one hitting his healthy leg, the other his shoulder. She repeated this several time, before stopping it, only to use one of the blades to saw his remaining foot and hand off. Jessica looked around. She saw only stony faces and more than a sliver of respect in Ralough's expression. None of them would stop the girl, and while she found it barbaric, she understood the anger and rage had had to be let out. A sane girl she would perhaps have stopped, as such an act certainly influenced someone, especially someone this young. However, there was no denial that this girl was already raging mad. They would have to tell Kingsley later. This girl belonged into psychological care. Now however, she deserved her revenge.

The girl had stopped her physical torture, completely ignoring the battle around the next corner. She now used a new spell, one Jessica only recognized because Snape had told her of the ordeal Narcissa had experienced. It was a nightmare spell, this one apparently meant to make Fenrir experience first-hand what he had done to others in the past. Utter terror showed on his face. Within minutes he experienced hours of mental torture. Then, to his endless luck, Hestia Carrow lost her patience. She would have liked to continue this, but the urge to kill him grew too strong in her heart.

"Accio silver blades!" Again she conjured the blades. This time they were banished back at Fenrir, only to be stopped in front of his face. There they hovered for a while before they slowly started to spin and advance towards his eyes. Fenrir tried to evade, fought valiantly against his silver chains, burning his own flesh with every motion. It didn't help. Adrenalin and rage made the girl's magic too strong for him to break. Jessica had to force herself not to look away as the tips of the blades reached the faces and bore into his eyes. The following scream was completely inhuman and full of pain. It only stopped as the blades' tips reached the back of his eyes, broke through the thin bones and stabbed his brain.

Suddenly, there was only peace and silence again.

Fenrir Greyback, curser of children and killer of parents, was gone. He wouldn't be bemoaned.

_**Bulstrode**_

While the sight of the attacking Werewolves had done much to raise his spirits – and those of his men whom he had problems to keep in line – their utter annihilation crushed them into oblivion. The Aurors and Werewolves weren't taking any prisoners, and with two of them wandering around among the fallen beasts, taking headshots to make certain they weren't playing dead opossum, it was quite clear that Amelia Bones had given killing orders to her men. Did the same count for their human opponents? That question troubled more than one of his men. So far the Aurors had more often than not used stunning spells against them. Those times apparently were over and the gloves off. Their fear heightened another notch as the painful screams of Fenrir Greyback reached their eyes. Unknown to even Hestia and Jessica, Ralough had cast a spell to transmit the sounds and vague pictures of what was happening to the Werewolf leader to the courtyard. As an experienced war leader, he knew about psychological warfare and guessed rightfully the impact of the transmission.

"Manticores, we need the Manticores," Parkinson wailed. Bulstrode nodded. The useless coward was right about that. Using the magical notepad – prepared by Travers as Bulstrode had no idea how they worked – he ordered the trio of Manticore trainers to send in their beasts. Eight Manticores – it was a frightening force, a force that could tip the battle in their favour again.

Too bad that two of the trainers had their own ideas.

.

**Georgios**

_I should have disowned my son years ago_, Georgios fumed as he watched his son obey the hair-brained order and send in the trio of Manticores under his command. Sending in the whole pride would rip the attacking force asunder, Bulstrode and Parkinson were right about that part. However, it would sentence them to death as well. The Aurors did not just have spells at their command. Georgios had watched them use guns, rocket launchers and blade weapons, all of them very useful against the nearly spell-immune pets.

What no Death Eater understood was that he loved his creatures. They were vicious. They were deadly. They were difficult to control. But in a way they were family. They followed him because he and his children belonged to their pride as well. He was the pride's leader and he would be damned if he allowed that stupid Bull-man to sacrifice them because his men were unable to take the Aurors down by themselves. The Aurors would have even less qualms to kill his Manticores than they had with the Werewolves.

No, his son may be stupid enough to follow the order, too much of a Dolohov-worshipper to think straight, but he was different. He was Georgios. His first priority was the safety of his pride. Yes, he would deploy them in the fight, but do so cleverly. He needed a useful target, a soft target. He needed a target that would hurt their enemy and not his creatures. An evil grin played on his face. Riding on one of his loyal pets, he had found something worthwhile of his wrath. He pointed towards the hospital camp below.

"Kill them all!"

.

_**Kingsley**_

Two of his Aurors had to be left behind so far. The rest concentrated their fire on the door and heaved it out of its hinges with a last salvo. A last glance towards Luna, a curt nod that there weren't any more traps waiting, and Kingsley ordered the attack. Nielsen jumped through the doorframe doing a summersault, crouching down and opening fire with his SMG, while he ignored the cutting curse that slashed into his shoulder. Soon he was joined by two more Aurors, then by the rest of the team and an incredible mayhem started to fill the entrance hall.

Kingsley exchanged spells with Parkinson, his exhaustion from the previous fighting balancing his better duelling skills. A house-elf appeared at Nielsen's side. The Danish Auror wasn't willing to be evacuated and urged the house-elf to use some combat-healing on him. With a sigh the little helper complied with his wishes.

The Bill-Luna team used the time to eliminate a couple of wards that hindered their side, making it easier for Kingsley's men to take the defenders down. One by one the Death Eaters in the entrance hall lost the fight, with some of the younger ones already looking for a way out. The Death Eaters in the neighbouring wings were still occupied with Amelia's forces, unable to come to their comrades' aid.

Suddenly a green flash crossed the hall. Kingsley whirled around. He was too far away to react. The green beam raced towards a little girl, a girl with blonde hair. At the last split second two things happened. First Luna was pushed aside by her hulking girlfriend, crushing on the floor and out of sight. Second a slab of granite was summoned by Bill, taking the death curse instead of the girls. It exploded and let splinters rain on all fighters in its vicinity.

Millicent Bulstrode barely acknowledged this, her glaring eyes trained on the source of the spell: her dear father. He was standing on the stairs leading upstairs, searching for his intended victim. Kingsley sent a spell towards him, but it was deflected by some ward. Bulstrode had chosen his position well – at least regarding magical fights. Millicent however had other things in mind. Shouldering Bill aside she lifted her gun, and before her father – who had just opened his mouth to chastise her – had a chance to react, she pulled the trigger.

A large boom filled the hall as a charge of 00-buckshot smashed into the shielding spell. It actually held, mostly. Bulstrode was stunned for a moment, bleeding from a couple of minor wounds as some of the grains had been able to penetrate the shield. Like an avenging angel Millie walked forward, trusting Kingsley and Bill to take down any would-be attackers – if she even cared about that right now. Her bastard of a father had dared to attack _her_ Luna. He would pay for this. She reloaded with a flick of her left hand and shot a second time. This time the shield failed and Bulstrode felt himself lifted and tossed back by dozens of lead grains. Step by step she approached him. Pump – aim – fire. One shot to his legs, another to the wand hand and the last one straight into the chest – Bulstrode was unable to do anything as Millie approached him. He hadn't any fight left in him, was barely able to curse anymore. Her shotgun emptied, Millie put her heavy foot on her father's chest and pulled a Colt .45 from her pocket, a personal gift from her personal shooting trainer Argus Filch.

Bulstrode wasn't really receptive to her speech anymore, as Millie coldly stated: "hello father. This weapon was called _Peacemaker_ by the Muggles. I'll use it to make my peace with you. Oh – and Mum sends her greetings." The three bullets through her father's head stopped any thoughts of his about the disgrace of his daughter. Millie was free at last.

"NOOO!"

The momentary silence was broken by a high-pitched scream. Everybody whirled around to see the house-elf treating Auror Nielsen staggering around, holding his head.

"Robert?" Luna asked softly from the ground. Unlike Kingsley she knew the house-elf, Mathilda's son, the future Patron of all Hogwarts' house-elves.

With immense pain in his eyes he stared at the little girl.

_What had happened?_

.

_**Augusta**_

While Amelia's forces had no problems taking the Manticores down – the Goblin warriors made good use of nets and spears, barely allowing the armed Aurors to take a couple of shots before the last creature made its final breath – the same couldn't be said about the camp. There were barely a handful of defenders, strengthened by some of the healers. Most of them had barely fighting experience or were – like Spiritualist Nowles – too old to fight. Without a trio of Goblins stationed there and the assistance of a couple of house-elves, they would have been overrun in an instant. Even so they had a deadly fight on their hands.

"Bombarda!" Augusta hit the leading Manticores head on, shaking him badly in the air and sending its rider flying. "Messorius!" She hated that spell, felt dirty by using it, but raged filled her heart because someone had actually tried to attack the hospital, tried to kill the injured and the healers. The reaper spell cut clean through Georgios' chest, the halves toppling to the ground. The pack leader was dead before his body hit the earth.

The goblins caught another Manticore with a net and pulled him to the ground, stabbing it gleefully with their long blades. The house-elves tried to distract the other beasts with telekinetic attacks, while the Aurors concentrated their fire on them.

"Augusta!" Mathilda screamed, noticing what the elderly lady did not: the Manticore advancing from behind. She was old, she was frail and she was dying. But her tiny body had still a bit of magic in it. She used it to push Augusta out of the danger's path, smiling when she saw that Augusta was safe. The smile remained as the enraged Manticore descended on her. It remained even as the mighty fangs locked on her tiny chest. The smile would remain on her face forever. Someone near enough would have heard her whisper a name, the name William.

.

_**Luna**_

Tears shot in her eyes as she realized what must have happened. Robert's reaction could only have one possible reason: his mother just died. She had been old and frail, ready to die. But Luna was certain, Matron Mathilda would have stayed until Tom Riddle was dead for good. So someone must have killed her. Robert vanished without a word. Luna paled. She had a vague idea what would happen now. No wizard who had ever experienced an angry house-elf would ever again laugh about them.

"Out! Out!" She yelled towards Kingsley. Without waiting she run towards the door, using an Accio spell to pull Millie towards her. Kingsley blinked. He had no idea what this was about. Only as he saw Bill following Luna in a hurry, did he decide to obey.

_I really, really hope she knows what she is doing_, Kingsley prayed. _Otherwise I will be so dead_.

He would never forget the face of Amelia as he and his team left the manor in a rush. The Death Eaters in the wings started to cheer, falsely believing that the battle had been won. Rumours of their Dark Lord joining the fight spread like bushfire. The reality was completely different.

Kingsley and his team had barely left the courtyard and certainly no chance to give an explanation for his weird behaviour, when Robert returned. He carried his dead mother in some kind of bridal style hold. The sight was disturbing, highlighting the contrast of her bloody, ripped apart chest and her serene, happy look. For a while he was alone, waiting for something to happen. This something were the other house-elves. First the twenty elves appeared that had been part of the task. Many of them were covered in blood – Manticore blood. Then more and more house-elves appeared, some individually, others in small groups.

Amelia ordered her men back and to swarm out. Like Luna she had a guess about what would happen now. "Don't allow a single Death Eater to escape," she gave Kingsley and Scott her orders. The men nodded and departed, leaving behind more than a hundred house-elves – a hundred extremely unhappy house-elves. Laments started to fill the air, as all elves – young and old, kitchen boy and chamber maid expressed their pain. Decades ago Tom Riddle had killed their patron. Today his followers had killed their matron as well.

"Harry and his friends are safe," a single house-elf announced. Amelia recognized Paddoc and felt a weight lifted from her heart. The house-elves were mad, but apparently not so mad as to risk Harry's life.

Aurors and hardened Goblin warriors alike took a step back as the laments turned into war cries. The Death Eaters in the manor had long stopped to laugh about the silly sight. It wasn't funny anymore. The house-elves started to pour magic towards the manor. These were no real spells and certainly in no way a coordinated attack. This was pure rage. The trickle of magic increased to a torrent, then to a flood washing everything away. The weakened wards held only for a few seconds, the outer walls not much longer. Screams of panic erupted from the remaining Death Eaters as the walls around them started to dust and to groan. Chunks of masonry started to fall down. Like ants from an over-flooded anthill, so the Death Eaters tried to leave their "secure haven", opened doors to run away and climbed through windows to escape this madness.

The house-elves had other plans. Invisible magic blocked off every path. The few Death Eaters able to find a bolthole found themselves hurled back into the manor, not all of them surviving the impact of their necks and limbs with the window frames. The whole manor was shaking now like under an earthquake and then, without further warning, it simply collapsed.

Slowly the war cries stopped and turned into laments again. The house-elves of Hogwarts had avenged their elders. Now it was time to grieve.

And time for Amelia to wonder what had happened below the manor.

_Where are you, Harry?_

.

_**A/N**_

_What happened to Harry? Who is the unknown lady searching for help? And will the world every be the same after an army of house-elves avenging their elders? More about it in the next chapter. _


	33. Chapter 33 You're going down (part 3)

**You're going down (part 3)**

.

_**Near Aberdeen – still 26**__**th**__** of October**_

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_**Luna**_

Luna was clinging to Millie for dear life, heavy tears running down her red-blotched face. They had known Mathilda would die, had expected it to happen in the near future. However, they had hoped to have her around for a couple more weeks, perhaps even until Christmas despite her rapidly deteriorating condition. Nobody had expected her to be in any danger at the field hospital or they would have erected the tents farther away. Now she was dead, killed by a monster whipped into a death frenzy while she saved Augusta Longbottom's life. It had been a last act of bravery, loyalty and pure devotion. Luna would miss her and was horrified by the idea of telling Daphne and Hermione what happened.

Millie was standing very still, only her hand moving as she drew soothing circles on Luna's back with her thumb. Glancing around, she noticed the predominant mood: shock. The sight of a hundred house-elves, filled with burning rage and tearing down a house over the heads of a score of Death Eaters – nobody would ever forget it. Not that anybody grieved those deaths, but it certainly changed the image of the submissive, always helpful little servants forever. Millie heard Luna's sob and hugged her closer. It helped her forget her own deed at the same time. Was she an evil person for not feeling any regrets at killing her own father?

She bowed down and placed a soft kiss onto Luna's hair. Her girlfriend would feel awful later, when she remembered Bulstrode's death. She would feel awful for allowing her grief about Mathilda's death overruling any other thought, for not being there for Millie in return. Luna was a bit like Potter in that regard, always finding faults in her own deeds. But Millie wouldn't allow that to happen. Matron Mathilda had been ten times the person Bulstrode ever could have become.

To be honest, she grieved more about the other students killed today than about her father. Luckily a few of them had been able to escape the slaughter, mostly those that had been sent against the Aurors as cannon fodder ironically. Luckily for them, Kingsley had dispatched the Centaurs to hunt and catch them, and order they followed using a minimum of violence. The fate of the Dementors and Werewolves had been far worse. Barely a werewolf had survived the fight, a few getting skewered while on the run, and Macôme and his French Aurors destroyed every single Dementor in sight.

Dolohov's army had been utterly destroyed today.

One question however remained: where were Harry and his friends?

.

_**Flashback**_

.

_It had required some time, but in the end she had been able to track him down nonetheless. He was careful, had always been. However, she simply knew him too well, knew his hideouts, his preferences, how he thought and acted. She was able to predict his actions, could flawlessly guess the spells he used for hiding. There was no way for him to escape her in the end. She opened the door, spells hiding the soft noises and stopping any air draught from warning him. He was sitting at the window, enjoying the sight of waves crashing against the cliffs, a fine bottle of Italian red vine waiting to get him not drunk but a little tipsy at least. She silently closed the door and walked behind him. It was far too late for him to do anything when he noticed her at last, when she bent down and purred into his ear:_

"_Long time, no see, my dear Rasty."_

.

_Rastaban LeStrange walked through the corridors of Dolohov's lair. Nobody stopped him, but there were always eyes on his every move. They didn't trust him, hadn't since his return into the cold embrace of his brethren. Travers was the only one actually on speaking terms with him. McNair and Bulstrode openly despised him, and he had no doubt that Dolohov was torn between using him for a while and simply killing him. He had no doubt: had the number of remaining Death Eaters been any bigger, there would have been only one possible decision. So he was endured, at least for now. _

_No, they didn't trust him. Only they had no idea how right they were in thinking that. They had no idea that there was a second Rastaban in his chamber, put under a magical sleep, waiting. She would wake him up at the appropriate time. While she didn't like him very much and certainly didn't trust him farther than she could throw him, he was still family. He shouldn't die or be caught by the Aurors in his sleep. Waking him up would allow him to choose his own path. Knowing him, Rastaban would take a wait and see attitude. He would watch the incoming battle and at the right moment he would make the coward's choice. It was not her way, had never been, but she wasn't Rastaban. _

_He had been helpful so far, telling her about the lair and how to get there. She had been able to penetrate the defences with his help and now she was running around, searching for her target. She could feel it. It was down there, protected by some heavy mojo spells. While she had always been an excellent duellist, her ward-breaker abilities weren't on par. She lacked the necessary patience to do better. No, she would have to wait for someone else to eliminate the obstacles. _

_Her time would come._

.

_The battle had started. A wicked smile played around her lips. Rastaban was somewhere else, presumable guessing the chances of Dolohov winning the battle. In her eyes history clearly told that he would lose – again. The DMLE had turned into a frightening war machine so far, while her former comrades had been unable to adapt, to keep pace with the change of times. There were too many inexperienced fighters among the Death Eaters, too many solo fighters unable to fight as an effective team, and the Werewolves weren't any better, with Fenrir nowadays only drawing in the most vicious of his brethren. They would die tonight – each of them, she could feel it._

_However, she felt something different as well, something that made her smile: Dolohov was down there, tearing down the wards. The way was open. The time for revenge had arrived at last._

.

_**Harry**_

Harry groaned as he entered the chamber and had a first look around. There it was, the destination of their infiltration, so near but so far away as well.

"So nice of you to join our little party," Antonin Dolohov greeted them, a false smile on his face. Only the paleness of his skin and the pearls of sweat on his forehead betrayed his lack of self-assurance. Harry assumed that Dolohov knew what was happening 50 feet above them, that he was informed about the development of the battle. It wasn't going well for the dark side. Only two minutes ago the blackflame chamber had just been overcome by the quartet, and Paddoc had arrived right in front of them. He had been pale and shaking, uncaring about the tears running down his face but obviously happy to have found them.

"Paddoc? What happened?" Daphne had asked, fearing that Winky had been injured in the fight. The ill-tempered house-elf had started to care very much about Barty Crouch's former servant. She certainly hadn't expected the answer.

"Matron Mathilda… she is dead." Paddoc swayed strongly enough to have both girl jump forward and steady him. "Miss Daphne must stay down here with friends," Paddoc continued after getting a grip of himself again. "Miss Daphne and friends can't go upstairs." Daphne frowned, wondered about the reason of this weird request. Paddoc guessed the question and answered it, his face turning into a mask of determination. "Hogwarts elves are avenging Matron Mathilda's death. Hogwarts elves are tearing down the manor. Y'use calling when need escape. Me'se come then." Without waiting for a response he departed, leaving behind four shell-shocked friends. The fact that he had been speaking house-elf gibberish at the end was proof enough of something serious happening up there. Not that they needed that proof with the manor starting to moan and groan a minute later, covering the four friends with dust.

And now they were standing in a chamber with rune-covered walls. Harry recognized the runes of strengthening, protection and power gathering. The work was quite crude. He could have done better by far. But it would do the job and Dolohov didn't to save space while placing the runes. At the far end of the chamber Dolohov was standing near a dais with two beds placed on it. The left one was a traditional bed, inhabited by some unknown younger man. The right one however was a very primitive "bed" and crafted from plain stone. Tom Riddle was resting there, his stone body still very familiar to the four friends. Daphne pointed towards the ceiling and Harry nodded, now noticing the symbols that had been carved into the stone. There was pentagram, surrounded by a circle, both carved deeply into the stone and partially filled with a bloody red substance that was slightly moving.

Dolohov, after his first greeting, had ignored them so far and continued his work, a work that mostly consisted of low chanting and applying some balm onto Riddle's body with a broad brush. Harry wanted nothing more than to charge the man, pull him away and blast his stupid head asunder with a Reducto or two. There was only one little problem: screening off the part of the chamber with Dolohov and his little ritual from the rest of the room was a strong looking magical see-through screen. There were rune stones on the ground, apparently empowering the screen. Obviously this had been planed – like the blackflame room – exactly for this one reason: to give Dolohov enough time for an awakening ritual in case of a successful invasion.

"Attack!"

.

Harry cursed as he jumped aside. They hadn't been able to tear the shield down in time. Even with all four friends combining their efforts, it hadn't faltered. The best result had been a flickering of the shield as they hit a galleon sized part of it with three Lancea spells at the same time while Hermione protected them from Dolohov's return fire. The Death Eater had stopped his chanting and brushing after a while, obviously pleased with his work. Now he was waiting for the expected result and while Harry hoped against all hope, there was no denying that the cracks and fissures in the stone body got broader and deeper with every second. The body on the other bed was glowing, ready to accept its unnatural guest. It was only a question of time…

A high-pitched scream permeated the chamber and the body on the bed started to violently rock back and forth. The cracks deepened even more and the stone body started to fall to pieces. A foot came off and smashed to the ground, disintegrating into small pebbles and fine dust. A hand followed. Then the head cracked into at least three pieces, while a black mist started to rise from it. The quartet intensified their fire, Dolohov watching the show on the beds with wide eyes. Hermione was finally able to join the attack. The shield was flickering wildly now. They only needed another wand or two and the shield…

The black mist hovered above the stone body now. Slowly it started to move towards the other bed. For a moment it looked as if the guest body tried to avoid it, to escape its bindings, as deep-rooted animalistic instincts took hold. It was to no avail. The mist descended and flooded his orifices, vanishing into the body and taking it in possession. The struggling stopped, and even the quartet paused now. For a few moments nothing happened and eerie silence filled the chamber. Then the guest body moved again, sitting up and looking around. The face didn't look healthy. It was pale and black lines were crisscrossing it, like the veins were filled with a tarry substance. The eyes glowed in an eerie red light as he looked around, his eyes coming to rest on Harry at last. The lips distorted into a cruel smile.

"Potter!"

.

_**Dolohov**_

He really didn't understand the hesitation on his master's part. Antonin Dolohov had been exalted about the success of his resurrection ritual. It had been invented – like the grand ritual that had to take place in five days' time – by Madam Guille as a last defence in a case like this, and implemented by Travers, the only Death Eater left he would trust with such a task. The interims body only had a life expectancy of a month at most – even this only if his master took care of the body and spared his magic. It was more than enough or should have been. However, instead of instantly leaving the lair and departing for safer grounds, Voldemort had decided to battle the four intruders. He was burning his magic like he had a dozen more bodies lying around waiting for him, instead of this being his only chance to reach safety. He obviously really hated the boy and wanted to see him dead.

The battle had begun several minutes ago. It was a very one-sided battle, with Voldemort and Dolohov hurling dark curses at the teenagers while those four tried to break through the shield. Dolohov had to admit – at least to himself and certainly without openly betraying his true feelings – that he was impressed by the talent, teamwork and sheer magical power of the teenagers.

The Pinegrew bitch was holding back and protecting her friends from any surprise attack. So far she had guessed each and every attack in advance and spoiled every trap, while doing her best to keep Dolohov and his master on their toes. With the screen still protecting them, she was a bit limited in her choice of spells, but she made good use of sounds and visual spells to distract them and hide her friends' actions. The Mudblood was equally defensive in her casting, using all kind of shields to protect them. While she didn't possess the pure magical power of the boys, she more than made up with a very efficient choice of her spells, often mixing different elemental effects with more traditional protection spells. Even Dolohov's strongest Barrage spells had gotten nowhere with a layered water shield stopping them.

And then there were the boys. Potter was the strongest among the quartet, at least at the beginning. He apparently had the strongest core, easily surpassing Dolohov. In a few years, if Voldemort and fate allowed him to reach that age, he would even surpass his Dark Lord, Dolohov feared. _But not now, not today_, Antonin mused, hastily pushing away the heretic thought. Even Potter's strongest fire spells hadn't been able to breach the shield so far, and he seemed to wait for something, recovering from the ordeal and gathering new power. Even more than Potter he had been surprised and impressed by the Longbottom Scion. Dolohov remembered Bella's rude remarks about the "Longbottom squib". _Oh, how wrong she had been_. Longbottom had started with strong spells, mostly of the Earth school, his prowess on par if not slightly above the Mudblood, but certainly way below Potter.

However, while Potter remained on that level and showed signs of exhaustion after a while, Longbottom had gotten stronger with every passing minute. There was absolutely no visible proof of any exhaustion, and with him now surpassing Potter in his magical output it was only a question of time until he overcome their defences. Dolohov, while being a proud and confident wizard, had always been good at judging his foes. More than once it had saved his arse in the past. However, he was at his wit's end trying to understand the source of this boy's power. He seemed to grow with every spell cast. His voice turned deeper, and slowly his skin got a little more greyish. What in Merlin's name…

.

_**Daphne**_

The door opened and two persons entered the chamber.

{"No danger, friends incoming."} Daphne's words rolled through her friends' heads. They had not turned around, trusting their "scout" to cover their backs. Seconds later Brychan and Ana joined the four friends, just in time to witness an incredible display of magic. Neville switched his wand to his non-dominant hand and reached out with his right, locking fingers with Harry. For a moment it looked a bit like a snake skinning as the greyish layer on his body flared and dusted towards his friend, slowly at first, but gaining speed and at last slamming into Harry's side with force.

Daphne and Hermione closed their eyes, but had no chance to warn Bry and Ana to do the same. The adults' magical senses overloaded as tons of magical power rushed from Neville's core into Harry's. The amount of sudden power would have burned Daphne's core and seriously damaged Hermione's. Even Harry was barely able to handle and redirect it into a spell of his own. A raging tornado was hurled against the screen, kicking and punching it, needling and piercing while dozens of Reducto and Barricade spells seemed to batter it. On and on went the rampage, while Neville and Hermione did their best to protect them from the backlash. One by one the runes empowering the shield burned out and went dull.

After a last thunderous crack, the shield was gone.

_Shit!_ Dolohov cursed.

.

_**Tom Riddle**_

Many members of the light side and quite a few of his own followers had believed him to be insane in the past. They had somewhat been right, but he had always been clever at the same time, had always been able to see the chances and dangers. He had rarely erred. Only two times had he seriously misjudged a situation. Once had been fifteen years ago, when he killed the Potters and ignored the power of Lily Potter's blood ward. The second lapse of judgement had happened only a couple of months ago, when Potter surprised him with his magical prowess and his unique Animagus form. Even then he would have won the duel without the interference of Potter's friends. He wouldn't repeat his error. No, he wouldn't underestimate the four teenagers, especially not now only minutes after his resurrection and with two more strong fighters joining them.

However, he had a plan. It was a plan that had its risks but not overly so. Dolohov wouldn't like it, especially not his own participation in it. Voldemort smirked. Actually, Dolohov's part was the one he personally liked the most. Boiling rage filled his mind for a moment. He had trusted the man, had intended to make him his second-in-command after his return – something the wizard obviously expected to happen. Only Dolohov had fallen short of his expectations, dangerously short. He hadn't been able to stock up the organization, had hired far too many dunderheads and worthless scum to fill the ranks. The proof was the failed battle fifty feet above them. His organization, that had been nearly strong enough to take over Britain only a year ago, that had been the object of nightmares and utter terror in the past, had been annihilated because Dolohov hadn't been able to put teeth behind his words.

Even worse were his personal failures. Dolohov had known about the Horcruxes, about their importance to him. Still, he had allowed them to be destroyed one by one. Even the ring, Salazar Slytherin's ring, the one that had been entrusted to the Gaunt family for generations, had been destroyed. It was time for Dolohov to pay for his failures. Did he really expect his master would forgive and forget? Perhaps he would have allowed that to happen had the battle turned another way. With an organization to handle – even a weak one – he would have entrusted Dolohov to handle it at least for a while. Now however there was nothing left, and without an organization there was no need for a second-in-command. No, it was time to cut his losses. He would leave this baleful place, would use Madam Guille's ritual and host body to strengthen his ties to this plane of existence, and leave the land for a while. He needed time in safety, to recover and to make plans.

_Yes, he would leave, but he had something to do beforehand_. Voldemort raised his wand...

.

_**Dolohov**_

"What are you doing?"

Dolohov's eyes widened, his mind not understanding the reasoning behind his master's actions. He was too shocked to notice the serious lapse in subservience he just showed, a behaviour that would have earned him a crucifying experience on the best of days. His reaction was understandable however. Harry and his friends were still recovering from the magical storm – actually only Harry and Neville had to recover; Ana and Bry were momentarily too blinded to act while Hermione and Daphne stood ready to defend their boyfriends – as Voldemort drew a line along his left forearm with the tip of his wand. It created a deep cut and his blood was flowing freely. Instead of reddening the floor like it should, the blood hovered around his arm like a cloud flowing in the wind. It seemed to have its own life, its own mind, as it followed the motion of the wand.

"Nebula Sanguinis!"

The cloud of blood flowed away and formed a wall of fog, only partially see-through and shielding both Voldemort and Dolohov from their foes. Slowly it descended towards the four friends, barely allowing Daphne and Hermione the time to mesh their own powers of Air and Water to create their own fog, this one a pale white-blue instead of Voldemort's ugly black-red, that stopped the expansion before it was able to make skin contact. Where both walls met, the magic of both spells clashed and little lightning bolts erupted, hitting the walls, floor and ceiling all around.

"Stop, Master. You're overly weakening the body."

Dolohov tried to reason with his master. Instead of acknowledgment – or rage because of his cheek – he only got a knowing smirk in return that sent shivers down his spine. This kind of magic was very strong, especially so when used by someone like Voldemort. However, it was called "blood core magic" for a reason. While the true magical core science was far more complicated, there was a basic differentiation between three known sources of magic. The first layer powered normal spells on the day to day basis. It was a very controlled kind of magic and its use without dangers to the casting wizard. The second layer was the emotional one. A wizard only used that magic in very serious fights or when highly emotional. Using this source could damage the core if used in excess. Magical exhaustion was a sure sign that the wizard was scraping at the limit of that magic.

The third and last layer however, the one Voldemort was using right now as everybody in the chamber was able to tell, consisted of the magic of his innermost core. It was the strongest magic a wizard or witch could use. There were rumours that it had been this kind of magic used by Lily Potter that had ended Voldemort's first reign of terror. However, while using emotional magic "could" injure a core, using blood core magic "would" cause serious damage. In a way the wizard using this kind of magic burned his own core to empower the spell, causing cracks in the mantle of his core with every spell cast. Continuously doing this would damage it beyond repair very fast, could turn him into a squib or even kill him.

_His master couldn't be so stupid and revenge-driven, could he?_

.

_**Voldemort**_

Naturally his enemies tried to overcome the fog. They were too clever to attempt to pass it bodily, but instead used all kind of spells to dissipate it. He had no doubt that their magic, especially their elemental magic, would sooner or later destroy the obstacle, but for a minute or two it would last. There was a serious crack in his core already, he could feel it. Leaving unattended it would turn him into a squib within two days, three at most. He didn't intend to wait this long, however. He intended to continue casting core spells. They wouldn't expect the tactic, he guessed. It certainly was a suicidal one. At least it would have been for any other wizard. He however had a backup plan, a plan that had something to do with the Dark Mark on Dolohov's arm and the connection it opened between servant and master.

"Fiendfyre!"

It was merely a whisper but the result was frightening nonetheless. An endless stream of red fire erupted from the tip of his wand. All over his body dozens of cuts opened, allowing blood to flow freely. It gathered around the wand and empowered the fire, turning it into a gigantic creature, a mix of a Dragon and a Basilisk. It roared deafeningly and reared its ugly head, screaming and hissing at the teenagers in its fiery rage.

Voldemort had no time to admire his handiwork. He felt his core crack down right to the centre. It was like a broken jug of vine now, with the last remaining sips of magic dripping to the ground, pooling around his feet. He had poured more than eighty percent of the host body's magic into this one spell. Now he had only seconds to act. Dolohov apparently realized this as well. He staggered back, half-way raising his wand. Still, he didn't dare to attack his master, to protect himself, as decades of trained obedience kicked in. Moments later it was too late anyway. Voldemort only had to lift a single hand, pointing towards Dolohov's forearm, commanding his servitude. Within seconds the connection was established, the sliver of his magic in Dolohov's arm allowing him to transfer his awareness into his new host. As his interims body crashed to the ground, as the last slivers of magic left the body, turning the poor young man into a squib, Voldemort took command of Dolohov's body.

Dolohov screamed. It sounded like an animal, caught in a deathly trap. Voldemort allowed it to happen for a couple of moments while his bloodfire dragon fought its way through the Air/Water-fog, eager to burn his foes. Voldemort smiled, Dolohov's terror pleasing him immensely. He wouldn't destroy him immediately as he could, wouldn't shatter his mind and soul right now. Instead he erected walls around the part that remained Dolohov. He would keep him prisoner for a while, both because of his knowledge and for his own pleasure, to torture him at his leisure. This certainly wasn't anything like Dolohov had imagined for his glorious future.

Voldemort squared his shoulders. This body felt better. Its magic was far stronger. Yes, this body would suffice until he entered his permanent one. Far better than the poor excuse Dolohov had chosen for him. Now it was time to see what his little toy had been able to accomplish so far. He turned around.

.

_**Harry**_

It was obvious from the start that Voldemort's Fiendfyre wasn't of the usual kind – if any Fiendfyre could ever be called usual. Its nickname "demon fire" wasn't for nothing. It was hard to summon and incredible tough and difficult to control. More than one wizard had grilled himself with his own fire in the past. However, with the amount of core magic used this magic was different in three ways:

It was far stronger than any Fiendfyre Harry and his friends had ever met. Even Brychan couldn't remember anything similar. It roared and coiled around, trashing against the protection runes littering the walls, destroying more than one of them in its rage. Left on its own it would destroy the whole chamber sooner or later for sure.

Then it seemed to be still connected to Voldemort in a way, despite his soul switching the body like old socks. It obeyed his mental commands without fault like a well-trained dog. It needed only a bare minimum on Voldemort's part to control its actions, leaving him free to join the fight as soon as he got control of Dolohov's body. This became quite clear as he started to cackle maniacally and to throw the darkest curses towards the frantic group.

And last it apparently had a mind of its own as well. It wasn't simply appearance but it actually was a fire dragon. It was able to use tactics, to use its fiery body and breathe in the most effective way. This was even more dangerous than the Fiendfyre trap in Dolohov's manor in Prague.

"Scutum Aquae!" Hermione erected a wall of water just in time to stop the fiery tail of the dragon from crashing into Daphne's side. Harry's girlfriend had been occupied with using her Air spells to deflect a dozen chunks of stone, freshly fallen from the ceiling and banished towards the group by Voldemort with a wave of his wand. Harry did his best to take control of the beast, but he hadn't fully recovered from his former ordeal and the blood component of the Fiendfyre made him feel violently ill.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry hadn't known that it was even possible to cast a triple killing curse in one go. Three missile of green light raced towards his friends, Voldemort's eyes only on Harry's face as the maniac didn't want to miss the boy's reaction. Without uttering a word but only using his mind and sheer willpower, Neville punched in the air with both hands and summoned two slabs of granite to protect the girls, leaving his own body wide open. Both slabs were pulverized into fine powder as the curses hit them, but at least the spells were stopped without doing more than monetarily blinding the girls. Ana however showed that she got her job with a reason. Not only did she cast a killing curse on her own, she did it wordlessly and fast enough to intercept the third of Voldemort's curses before it was able to hit Neville. Only a couple of feet in front of Neville both curses collided and created a small green explosion, the shockwave forcing him back a step. Harry's terror turned into utter relief and he smirked towards an annoyed looking Voldemort.

_No, this won't be so easy._

.

The following minutes saw a drawn-out battle between the four teenagers and their two friends on one side and Voldy/Dolohov and his fiery toy on the other. Hermione had been grazed once by a claw, her side burning in pain and her stomach cramping as the pure evilness of the core magic sent shivers through her body. Daphne was making progress in taking the blood fog down, with Ana assisting her, while Harry and Brychan struggled to bring the fire dragon under control. They had to leave the defence against Voldemort's spells to Neville mostly, and their friend did an amazing job. Voldemort was slowly losing his countenance and his lack of progress was only the icing on the cake.

At first nobody noticed how the door in the back of the chamber clicked open. Unknown to Harry and his friends it led to an emergency exit far enough away from the manor to even allow apparating despite the DMLE's wards. This tunnel was Voldemort's backup plan should the fight not go as hoped. Voldemort stopped sending curses towards the insolent boy and turned around as he noticed the steps clicking on the stone ground. His eyes widened in recognition, and his lips distorted into a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Bella!" Voldemort greeted her. "I hadn't expected your visit today."

Neville and the others stiffened for a moment, with only Harry and Brychan continuing to weave their magic as the fire dragon was unwilling to give them a break. Hermione glanced towards her boyfriend, assuming that he would be shocked to see Bellatrix LeStrange again, today of all days. Naturally they had known about her return, about her meeting with Ted Tonks. But nobody had expected to meet her today. Hermione frowned for a moment. Daphne hadn't been surprised when Narcissa Black demanded to be part of the task force. Perhaps Bella's presence wasn't a surprise for everybody? However, what was the reason of her intrusion? Would she join her master? Bella joining the fight would make it even more difficult for them to win.

"Hello Tom," Bella greeted him, her face a bland mask.

Voldemort frowned because of the address. This wasn't the Bella he remembered, the Bella that always respected, adored and, well, loved him in the past.

"I assume you didn't expect to meet me again – ever," she snarled.

"Why would I…" Voldemort started but Bella rudely interrupted him.

"You killed her, Tom." She glared at him and even Voldemort felt a tad uneasy for a moment. "You promised me, Tom. You promised me you would spare her. But you killed her. You killed my little Andi." More than one observer was unnerved by the sight of Bellatrix LeStrange sobbing because of her loss. They had heard about the Blacks' sense of family, the sibling love shared by the three sisters, but so far they hadn't completely believed the stories. Apparently they had been wrong. And Voldemort as well.

"Bella," Voldemort tried to placate his former lieutenant. "My dear Bella, you have to understand…"

"What?" Bella growled. "What do I have to understand? That your promise was only worth something as long as I was of use for you? That you were willing and eager to break it at the first opportunity? You betrayed me, Tom. You betrayed everything."

"Enough," Voldemort commanded, and his word reached the woman, the dark mark enforcing her obedience. "You will stop behaving like a spoiled child having a temper tantrum. You…"

"I will avenge my sister," Bella screamed, breaking the command and sending a cutting curse towards her former master.

Harry blinked. He couldn't believe it. Bellatrix LeStrange, staunchest supporter of Voldemort, was attacking her master. The spell grazed his chest and drew a little blood, the spell too weak to completely pierce the body shield Voldemort had erected.

Voldemort's eyes widened. He had expected a quarrel, heated words and all, some stomping on the ground and a long period of pouting. But bever had he expected Bella daring to openly attack him. He snarled and returned the fire with a Reducto of his own. Bella sidestepped the spell and upped the ante, hurling a couple of spells towards him, a pair of Lanceas forcing Voldemort to protect him with a hastily erected shield.

{"Weaken the dragon,"} Harry's mental command yanked his friends from their stunned confusion.

Hastily Hermione, Daphne and Neville started to use water magic, allowing Harry to strengthen his grip on the remaining fire magic with every passing moment. Brychan and Ana, unable to be of any real help with this kind of magic, switched targets and did their best to break the blood cloud down. They were making progress with that task, but feared to be too late to assist Bella before Voldemort overpowered her.

Meanwhile, it didn't look good for Bella. After a short period of surprise, Voldemort was now fighting back full force. His face an expression of pure rage, he used some of the darkest curses and did his best to ground his former servant into a pool of bloody goo. It was astonishing that Bella was even keeping up. She sidestepped most spells, and deflected the rest. Refraining from using shield spells, she stayed on the offensive. The barrage of spells would have turned most wizards into fine powder already, but Voldemort wasn't most wizards. The victor of this little duel was clear from the beginning and became even more obvious with every spell exchanged.

Bella had noticed this too. She actually hadn't expected to win. To be honest she hadn't intended to survive the fight. Voldemort killing her sister had done far more to her than simply making her loose one of the few remaining family members. She had cut every relation to her sister for decades, obeying her master's agenda and worldview in doing so. Unlike Narcissa, she hadn't changed her behaviour last year, had never openly acknowledged that Andi even existed. She had done all of this because of her feelings towards one Tom Riddle. His betrayal had broken her heart, her spine and her will to live. Since her meeting with Ted Tonks she had been a mere shadow of her former self. She had wanted to end this pain that was called her life.

And today she would.

"RAPTUS!" Bella screamed the next spell. It burst forth and slammed into Voldemort, actually breaking through his defences and making him stagger as violent cramps razed his body. Bella however staggered as well. Her dark mark wasn't for communication and detection only. It was a life insurance as well, prohibiting Voldemort's servants from doing exactly what she was attempting. While a stinging hex would only cause a magical slap on the hand in return, a serious attack like her cramping spell could easily cripple a lesser Death Eater. Bella was too strong-willed to succumb easily, but she fully knew what she was doing to herself in attacking her former master with deathly spells. She recovered from the backlash while sidestepping the next couple of attacks, before she pressed on again.

"Falaricae!" A volley of 3-feet javelins was hurled towards Voldemort, and while most of them were deflected or missed him completely, two overcame his shield, piercing his left thigh and his side right above the hipbone. He was forced back a step and lost his countenance for a moment, something Bella made good use of. Ignoring the pain that tried to crush her black heart, she continued her attacks, sending a couple of traditional spells like Reductos, Lanceas and Cutting curses towards Voldemort to occupy him, before she switched to something different again.

_We're nearly through_, Ana mused, concentrating on taking down the last remains of the blood fog. It was still too dangerous to advance as long as they remained. She glanced to the left. Harry was winning against the dragon, with his friends alternating between weakening the fiery beast and protecting each other against his attacks. However, the Fiendfyre creature was still too strong and dangerous to ignore. Harry wouldn't be able to advance for another minute or two. Voldemort had recovered from the earlier onslaught and prepared another barrage of attacks. Ana Hernandez saw the events unfold like in slow motion. Bellatrix LeStrange was weaving another spell. It was a spell Ana recognized, a spell that could decide the duel. However, she was a tad too slow. Voldemort's attack would hit her before Bella finished her spell. It would interrupt her, and Ana doubted the sister of Narcissa Black would get another chance like this. She had to help her, to buy her a couple seconds. _Roxanne won't be happy with me_, Ana knew.

"Cambiar el objetivo!"

Brychan heard the whispered command, recognized for what it was. _Switch the target_. He knew this kind of spell from the Vatican Aurors, the Italian command words being close enough to understand the Spanish spell. Bodyguards used it to sacrifice their life for their wards. It was the magical equivalent of an agent jumping in front of a politician to catch the bullet for him. For a second, caster and target switched positions in a way, at least regarding to a single spell that was sent the target's way. There had been many heated discussions whether the persons actually switched placed or the attacking spell was redirected – in any case the result was the same.

"Protego duro!" Brychan wasn't certain his shield spell would accomplish anything. He could only hope it would.

Voldemort finished his spell a second before Bella. It raced towards her and his face distorted into a vicious smile. A handbreadth before the pale blue spell, formed like a dagger of ice, hit Bella, something happened. The dagger simply vanished into thin air. Voldemort's eyes widened. He didn't really notice the scream of pain fifteen yards behind him, didn't see the shield protecting Ana getting shattered by his spell before the dagger pierced her chest. He was still staring as Bella completed her spell, her mind too far away to realize how close to death she had just been.

"Complexus mortis aeterni!"

_Embrace of eternal death_, Ana smiled weakly, her knees buckling, her body already feeling cold and numb. While Harry and his friends purged the chamber of the fiery dragon, while the last remains of the blood cloud dissolved, dozens of blood-red ropes, looking a bit like a mix of tentacles and plant roots with pointed tips, were summoned around Voldemort and Bella. With a second of forewarning Voldemort could have escaped the spell just in time. It was a very strong but not overly fast spell. It wasn't really meant to be used in a fight, but more like in a Romeo and Juliet situation – only in this case Juliet was mad as a hatter and Romeo a tad unwilling so to say. It didn't help him in the least.

The ropes grabbed both "lovers" and dragged them towards each other. Voldemort was actually able to cast a pair of cutting curses, destroying two of the ropes, before the range was too close to continue his struggle. Bella did nothing aside looking far too content and happy for a situation like this. Her expression was frightening even Voldemort, her lunacy far too clear and close up right now. He tried to lift his wand another time and cast a point black Reducto at her head – not because he hoped to get his freedom back but simply to get rid of that creepy smile. It was too late. Voldemort and Bella connected an in moments the ropes coiled around them, bound them together like lovers, cording them up like a postal parcel. Voldemort opened his mouth to yell at Bella, only there came nothing but screams of pain, as the tips of the ropes started to pierce them.

Harry and his friends stiffened for a moment as Daphne following Brychan's urge to help Ana. Again and again the tips pierced the skin of the duo, drilled holes through their bodies like oversized needles, the ropes serving as yarn, stitching them together like some scraps of cloth. Voldemort ranted and raved in helpless rage, while Bella put her head on his shoulder, the smile never leaving her face despite the blood streaming from her wounds, trickling from her nose and mouth.

"You'll never betray me again, Tom," she whispered, as the both of them sank to the ground.

Voldemort clawed at her, tried to get rid of the ropes, his motions getting weaker with every second. The knowledge that this death wouldn't be permanent, that there still was a Horcrux out there, save from destruction and waiting for him, didn't erase the knowledge and simple feeling of dying painfully. He could have lasted a little bit longer, perhaps even survived Bella for a few minutes as she was dying very fast as well. However, he had always been a coward in the depth of his heart, the cowardice urging him to seek immortality decades ago, a cowardice now convincing him to stop this struggle before temporary death claimed him. With the last remaining magic left in this body, he willed it to die, willed his soul to leave its body on his own accord. He was able to feel the draw of the Wand-Horcrux. There he would go. Bella may have won this fight, but he would win the battle. Seeping into the earth to not allow anybody to attack his vulnerable soul, Voldemort escaped, leaving behind a dead Dolohov and a dying Bellatrix.

The battle was over for today.

.

_**Neville**_

"Is she stable enough for shifting?" Neville asked Daphne softly. His friend was doing her best to stabilize Ana and preventing her death. It didn't look good.

He tried not to glance towards Bella LeStrange. The woman had done many bad things in the past. She had hurt his family more than once. Today, however, she stood by their side. Her reasons had been her own. She surely wasn't a repentant sinner. She fought Voldemort because he killed her sister not for some foreign concept of freedom and equality. Family love and loyalty however were things he could understand and respect. With her deed and her death she had earned his forgiveness today. Didn't mean he liked her. Didn't mean he wanted to see Hermione holding her hand, being the last person Bella would…

The last person?

"She is," Daphne whispered. "We have to hurry."

Neville nodded, put his hands on Daphne's arm and Ana's shoulder. Breathing deeply a few times, he reached out to feel the Earth magic around them. It was too dangerous for apparating and the house-elves hadn't shown up so far. Moments later the air flickered around them and the trio vanished.

.

A minute later, the air flickered in the middle of the Auror group waiting for news about Harry's team. Everybody looked up as Neville appeared in their midst, relieved that he appeared mostly unhurt. The teenager had delivered Ana and Daphne to the hospital camp and, after a curt but heartfelt hug with his grandma, had vanished again. He had a message to deliver.

"Everything is alright down there. Ana was seriously hurt, she's at the hospital," he explained without waiting for questions, while looking around. "Where is Professor Black?"

He got a couple of confused looks because of the sudden question. "She's over there, Mister Longbottom," Professor Snape answered. He at least had still his wits about. Neville nodded curtly and hurried towards the woman he had been looking for. Narcissa Black did her best to look poised but he saw the grief and fear in her eyes. She already knew the message he was here to deliver.

"Professor Black, please come with me. It's time for parting words." Narcissa nodded once and accepted Neville's arm, leaving behind more than one Auror wishing to know what this was about. Among them only Severus Snape realized why Neville had been here. Bella was down there. And she was dying. That the Longbottom boy had pushed aside the hate he felt towards Bellatrix LeStrange to allow her sister to spend her last moments with her sister, raised his opinion about the boy more than a little bit. Neville Longbottom certainly had changed over the years.

"Farewell, Bella," the dour potion master whispered, making certain that nobody heard him.

.

_**Somewhere in Cornwall**_

.

He felt the dissolution. It was tearing at the edges of his soul. Nearly all of his Horcruxes were gone. Only the one remained that had been created last. It contained only a tiny sliver of his soul. There hadn't been more to place into the wand. It would barely be enough to resurrect him. He wasn't certain if it would even have been enough without Madam Guille's preparations, without her ritual and the specially crafted body. They would allow him to regain his life, even stronger than before, at least in body and magic. His soul however was shattered beyond hope. If this failed, he would be gone forever.

He felt the place, felt the magic and the taint. Viktor had done well. He despised the man and knew that Madam Guille's assistant shared that opinion. This was insignificant however. Viktor was loyal to his late mistress. He would perform the ritual in five days. Nobody would find the place until then. Nobody aside the two of them knew about the place and he could feel the strong and ancient wards protecting the place.

No, he would be save around here.

He would be strong again.

He would get his revenge.

.

_**A/N**_

_Only one more chapter to go. Any comments/tips/wishes about the epilogue would be welcome. _


	34. Chapter 34 One Voyage ends

_**A/N**_

_Sorry for the very long delay. The last weeks have been very stressful and I struggled a bit with the details of this chapter. To top it all, I've been ill for the last two weeks. _

_On the other hand: this chapter is quite a bit longer than usual, nearly 19k words. Hope you'll enjoy it._

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**One Voyage ends…**

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_**Somewhere in Cornwall – 28**__**th**__** of October 1996**_

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_**Tom**_

Two days had passed since the battle; two days since Bella's betrayal; two days since he had been forced to abort the fight with the Potter-brat and his little band of miscreants. It still annoyed him beyond measure. He would have loved to have Potter helplessly watch his friends die. It would have given him endless pleasure to douse the light of hope in those green eyes – the same eyes that had stubbornly defeated him fifteen years ago, when Lily Potter willingly accepted her own death in the knowledge that her sacrifice would ensure her son's safety. Killing the boy would have allowed him to erase that humiliating memory of the past.

Tom Marvolo Riddle sighed deeply; at least as much as a black mist-like being was able to sigh. He still was without a body. He stayed near the prepared host body, a safety measure the past had taught him. In three days Viktor would execute the ritual and bind him to the body the splendid Madam Guille had prepared for him. It was a fantastic body: tall, imposing, in perfect shape. After binding his soul to it, the body would attract worshippers and followers in scores, like moths to the flame of a brightly burning candle.

Even more important was the magical preparation however. Tom was able to feel the runes waiting for him. They were incredible in their strength and density. Cut into the flesh just below the skin, invisible to the unknowing observer, they would empower the body with inhuman strength, endurance and agility. Binding his soul to the body securely, the connection would be strong enough to make him resist even a killing curse. Lesser curses would simply be absorbed and strengthen him even more. The cores of a dozen lesser wizards had been discharged into the runes, allowing him to draw onto additional magical power in times of need.

In three days he would return to the world as the strongest wizard alive since Merlin. Nobody would be able to stop him after that. However, he had to wait until then if he wanted the resurrection to happen with the best possible results. He could do it now: the ritual was prepared, the wand resting on the host's chest, surrounded by a tiny shell of magic. He didn't need any outside help. He could do it all on his own, even finish the ritual with a single thought if the need arose. However, the sooner he started the ritual, the weaker his body and magic would be. Tom knew that his enemies were looking for him. They knew the dangers as well as he; they knew they had to find him before Halloween if they hoped for any chance to beat him.

Hopefully they would be too late.

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_**Viktor**_

Soon, oh so soon, he would be reunited with his Dark Mistress. Viktor didn't even try to suppress his sneer as he watched the black mist hovering above his Mistress' masterpiece. Dark Lord Voldemort – the man was ridiculous. He didn't deserve the title and certainly not his respect either. Convincing a couple dozen weak men to follow him was no real accomplishment. Even the people of this land – sheep in their own right – had stopped fearing him and were now fighting back. Like a pack of wolves smelling blood they descended onto Voldemort's followers. They had destroyed the cowards and weaklings obeying this "great" Dark Lord. His second-in-command Dolohov had put all eggs in one basket and lost. In the end he had paid with his life and soul.

Viktor would do that as well, but of his own volition. In three days, with Voldemort back under the living – more or less – he would have lived up to his promises. With this last task, he would be allowed to die. His Dark Mistress would be waiting for him. Madam Guille had no need of the coward's solution Voldemort had chosen for himself. She didn't fear death, knew of the planes beyond; how to bend them to her will. And he would as well soon enough. Viktor smiled a surprisingly soft and warm smile. He missed her, her soft hand and sharp tongue, her dark aura and coal-black eyes promising eternal damnation.

_Soon – soon enough_. Viktor sighed. Now, however, he had to check on the guardians. A battle was coming; he could feel it in his bones. His last battle… and he would make her proud.

.

_**Hogwarts – 29**__**th**__** of October**_

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_**Neville**_

Neville smiled softly as Hermione snuggled into his side, happy that his fiancée had recovered from her injury. To her relief, there had been a burn ointment, recently developed by a Danish research team, specially crafted to treat Fiendfyre burns. Until then, even a minor injury through demon fire would have left a scar on her skin for the rest of her live, and while Hermione wasn't abhorred by the idea of scars, she was girly enough to be happy about avoiding them, if only to see the desire in Neville's eyes as he ogled her naked body. She wanted to be beautiful for him.

The rest of the group had recovered as well – all aside Ana Hernandez. Daphne's aunt had been gravely injured by Voldemort's ice dagger spell. For two days it had been touch and go, and Neville had no doubt that only the relentless teamwork of Daphne, Roxanne and Nel had been the decisive factor for her rescue in the end. _Their teamwork and the surprising assistance of one Narcissa Black_, he added silently. When Ana's life had teetered on the brink, when even Nel had been fearing for her survival, Narcissa had offered her help as the donor in the Sanguis Familiae ritual spell. The spell had rescued Ginny Weasley's life in the past and been helpful a couple times more since then. Narcissa Black had risked her life and magic to help the Spanish Auror.

Normally only close family members could have undertaken that part. It was too late however to fetch one of Ana's cousins or nieces. With Narcissa barely related to the Pinegrews and certainly not to the Hernandez family, it shouldn't have been possible. Narcissa however, being the Slytherin pureblood she was, found a loophole in the magical law.

"_On my sister's part, I, Narcissa Black, accept a life debt for what you have done. You risked your life to protect my sister. You allowed her to avenge our sister Andromeda. For this we owe you. For this I call you sister."_

Magic had accepted her oath, and in consequence accepted her as close enough to Ana to allow Narcissa's part in the ritual spell. The debt had been repaid in blood, life and magic, weakening Narcissa for weeks and months to come, but undoubtedly saving Ana's life. If Neville had ever doubted Professor Black after the events of last year, it would have stopped on that day.

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_**Daphne**_

A couple of doors away, Daphne was enjoying her fiancé's presence as well. An hour ago, Harry had noticed Daphne's dark mood, due to Ana's condition and the apparition of Paddoc. The house-elf's presence had reminded her of Matron Mathilda's shocking death. Her funeral was planned for Halloween, as on that night the layer between the world of the living and the dead would be the thinnest. Headless Nick and the other ghosts were already gathering their friends. Augusta and her family had been allowed by the house-elves of Hogwarts to help with the creation of the burial mound near the lake – raised by hand and without magic – allowing for a good view on the arrival of the new students every 1st of September. Mathilda had loved the smallest students above all others. Now she would be part of their life forever.

Harry had used the past few days to recover from the battle, to relax, and to shed the dark thoughts of all the casualties of the vicious fight from his troubled mind. Sirius had been around quite often, still miffed that he hadn't been part of the task force, but understanding that he was neither an Auror, nor as good a dueller as Brychan or Ana. Despite his own talents, Sirius was simply outclassed by the duo. Harry had to choose whom to take with him and the choice hadn't been Sirius. Carmen had been more than happy about it. The young Auror was shocked enough about the sight of a dying Ana.

Daphne turned to the left as she noticed a soft humming. She exchanged a warm smile with her future mother-in-law, as Lily Potter was happy about spending some time with her son. Harry was singing right now, something he didn't do often enough in Daphne's opinion. Hopefully, when all of this was over and done with, he would have more opportunities to cultivate his talent. Daphne already had prepared a special Christmas present for him. Next summer, in the "Teatro Real's" summer break, some of the best Spanish voice instructors would teach him how to sing properly. While Harry would never turn into a Luciano Pavarotti or a Plácido Domingo, his voice was too good to go untrained. Harry actually loved to sing, he only hated the audience. And in Daphne's opinion it was a very important anchor for his soul, like the love they shared and the closeness to his family, something to remember in times of doubt and in need for a reason to live.

Tonight, life was good.

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_**Roxanne**_

Daphne's mother silently closed the door, content that her daughter and Harry were happy. The teenagers needed more moments like these, hours for themselves, leaving behind the heavy weight on their shoulders. Three days had gone by since the battle. The injured Aurors had been taken care off. Luckily only a small number of them had died in the battle – quite in contrary to the heavy losses on the dark side. Twenty-two corpses had been uncovered as they searched the manors ruins – and fifteen barely living prisoners, that had been vegetating in the basement, all the while being used to feed the Dementors. Their sight alone would have been enough to wish death and damnation to all Death Eaters.

The part the house-elves played hadn't been disclosed to the public. Officially the manor had succumbed to the stress of the magical battle and simply collapsed. Surprisingly enough nobody had spilled the beans so far. Roxanne was certain however that this wouldn't last forever. None of the Death Eaters in the manor had survived and only a couple from the surrounding area did. The only noteworthy Death Eater on the run was Rastaban LeStrange. His survival instincts had obviously kicked in just in time once again, allowing him to escape death as well as capture. He had left Great Britain and, according to rumours, Europe as well.

Ildiko had departed the next day with the injured Werewolves, the bemoaned Branka and a very confused Hestia Carrow. While not physically injured, her mind certainly needed serious help. Roxanne hoped that Alecto's presence would help her recover. Could the world get any weirder, hoping for mental health advice from a madwoman like Alecto Carrow? Roxanne still wished both aunt and niece a happy ending.

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_**Hogwarts – 30**__**th**__** of October**_

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"No," Daphne leant back in her seat with a frustrated sigh on her lips. "It's hopeless."

Like Hermione she had tried to get a connection to Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem. And like Hermione her strenuous efforts hadn't been crowned with any real success. Luna put the diadem back on her head with a soft hum and a smirk on her lips. While she wouldn't have begrudged her friends some success with the diadem, she wasn't too unhappy about being the only one with a connection to the artefact so far.

"I'm not surprised," Headmaster Flitwick announced. "I assume you felt some kind of rejection?" Both girls nodded. "I expected as much. Rowena Ravenclaw was a proud woman. Both of you rejected House Ravenclaw in the past. She wouldn't take such an act kindly."

Hermione started to object but shut her mouth again. Back in 1991 at her sorting she had convinced the hat to put her in Gryffindor despite its suggestion to put her in Ravenclaw. She wanted to share the house of the great Albus too-many-names Dumbledore. How stupid she had been. In the end it had been the right decision, however. Minerva was the pride's leader, the professor being a dear friend now. And without that sorting she may never have become friends with Harry, never gotten to know and learned to love Neville. This rejection hurt, but it was a price she was willing to pay for what she got.

Daphne nodded slowly. Headmaster Flitwick was certainly right. At the end of her fourth year, as one of his first official acts, he had offered some of the students a resorting, due to Headmaster Dumbledore's interference with the original sorting. Neville accepted the deal and became a Hufflepuff, to nobody's surprise. Daphne however declined the offer. She wanted to stay with her housemates, her friends, and mostly her younger sister. She didn't need to be a Ravenclaw to be a good student and to love books, knowledge and learning.

With Luna's help they would still be able to examine the diadem, only not on their own.

There was still hope for the future. And she certainly wasn't against spending hours on end with the blonde 'Claw.

.

"Something the matter?" Harry asked. With Daphne and Hermione still working on the Diadem and a slightly smirking Luna watching them. Only Neville and he had noticed how Headmaster Flitwick had tensed. He looked like he was listening to something now, something only he was able to hear – or feel.

"Something or someone broke through the wards," Filius whispered, narrowing his eyes as he allowed his magical senses to merge deeper with the castle. "It is something big, something very strong."

"A Giant?" Neville wondered aloud feeling slightly concerned. While they had been able to convince the giant clans to stay neutral in the war, there was still the possibility of a couple of them supporting Voldemort or simply getting lured into an attack.

"Only if this giant is able to fly," Filius deadpanned. "This creature broke through the wards 300 feet above the ground."

"Perhaps one of the Manticores," Neville guessed unhappily. He hated to think about the creatures, how they nearly killed his grandma and caused Mathilda's sacrifice.

Filius shook his head. "It's far bigger than a Manticore and unequally stronger. Let's go." His magic encompassed the five teenagers and seconds later they found themselves on the open ground near the castle. Looking around, there was nothing unusual to notice at first. Then, an incredible scream filled the air. Something circled the castle and came into view. It was a slightly frightening sight, one of the biggest creatures living on this earth – a dragon. It was not just any dragon however but a Hungarian Horntail and a fully grown mother dragon to add. The dragon roared again, filling the air with its challenge. It flipped the tip of its wing and turned towards the small group.

Without hesitation Harry turned into his Animagus form and took to the air. He didn't even flinch when someone jumped on his back. However he needed a few seconds to notice that it wasn't Daphne accompanying him but Luna. {"Don't hurt her,"} Luna whispered. The statement was a little funny with tons of dragon fury thundering towards him. He was an agile flyer and surprisingly strong in his slender form, but claw against claw not a real challenge for a dragon, especially not one such as this.

From the ground it looked a bit like two teenagers playing "who chickens out first" in their Chevrolet Camaro cars. Flying towards each other head on, the distance melted away incredible fast.

Two hundred feet – both dragon and wyvern opened their mouths, barring their teeth.

One hundred feet – both creatures inhaled deeply.

Fifty feet – two incredible hot pillars of flame were shot at each other, connecting in the middle and battling for supremacy. Dragon and Wyvern shifted slightly, barely missing the other, with their claw-tips screeching on the other's scaled skin. For a moment Harry feared that Luna would slip from his back as he rolled around, but somehow she was able to cling to him. Dragon and Wyvern circled each other, hissing and roaring, threatening but not attacking again. Hermione was reminded of the battle of words and insults between Harry and Draco back in second year. After a while the pubescent behaviour stopped and they landed on the ground somewhat away from the concerned observers.

"It's the dragon mother from Harry's first task," Hermione realized.

"You're right," Daphne agreed, recognizing the dragon from their last "meeting". The question was: _what was the reason of her presence_?

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["I greet you, Lady Dragon. Welcome back at Hogwarts Castle."] Harry recognized the dragon as well. It was hard not to. The last time he had been dodging her breath on his beloved Firebolt, the fire even burning some of the bristles. It was a slightly disturbing sight with dragon and wyvern facing off each other, the Dragon growling and the Wyvern hissing something unintelligible.

The dragon shook his head and seemed to grimace. Harry had only a few seconds to wonder if he had done something impolite, before Luna left her lofty seat and slipped down his scaly side to the ground. "She doesn't like Parseltongue," she explained softly. "She understands it, but it's snake tongue not dragon tongue, a lesser tongue in her opinion. It's like someone addressing you in Pidgin English or Baby talk, you know." Harry nodded slowly and wondered how to communicate. Luna had a solution for that problem apparently. She gestured towards the dragon to step closer. Harry's eyes widened and he gulped as the dragon actually obeyed. He saw Daphne moving towards him, only to be stopped by Neville. He felt better with Daphne staying behind. The dragon was incredibly angry; he sensed the rage rolling off in heavy waves. Now they stared at each other, snout nearly touching snout, and Harry felt the fiery breath playing around his neck. Luna looked so tiny between them but she seemed quite unconcerned. Now she even lifted her hands, putting one each on the tips of their noses.

{"I am Catriona, guardian of the Naomh Leac; I greet thee dian sgiathan"}

The voice thundered through Harry's head, filling every corner of his mind. With the help of Luna and the diadem he understood her, even the meaning of the Gaelic words. Naomh Leac meant something along the line of holy tomb. Dian could be translated as fiery but also meant ardent or passionate. Together with Sgiathan – wing – she called him Firewing. He liked the name.

{"I greet thee, Catriona. May the fire in your belly never extinguish and your hatchlings prove as strong as her mother."} He made that up on the fly and hoped for the best. Catriona seemed to welcome his words so far. {"If I may be so bold to ask: what is the reason of your visit? Do you wish to repeat our fight from two years ago?"} It was actually the only reason he could think of, while hoping that he was wrong.

{"No, I do not. You won fair and squarely."} She hesitated, allowing Harry a moment to feel relief. Her next words came haltingly as if she was struggling to say them. {"I'm in need of your help. The dragons of Cornwall are in need of your help."}

Harry blinked, flabbergasted by the announcement. He hadn't expected this of all things. Cornwall – Harry would have paled without his scales. Cornwall was that part of Britain they thought of as the most likely hiding spot of Voldemort.

{"How may I be of assistance?"} Even his mental voice was raspy. Harry felt Luna's happiness about his eagerness to help Catriona.

{"Fourteen generations ago the Druids of Britain bestowed us a sacred place to be used as a burial ground for my kind."} In his human form Harry would have staggered at the thought of the immense time span. Catriona was speaking of thousands of years, long way before the founders erected Hogwarts Castle or even Merlin graced Britain with his presence.

{"For fourteen generations my family has been guardians of Naom Leac, not always living near the cavern but always taking care of it. Never in all those years had someone not of our kind been able to enter the cavern without my family's consent."}

{"I assume this has changed now."}

Catriona nodded slowly. {"One month ago a man with a black soul entered Britain. He came from the far south. He followed the orders of his dark mistress and brought with him a couple of items that tainted the very air around him. His name was…"}

{"Viktor,"} Harry whispered.

{"You know him?"}

{"I have heard of him,"} Harry admitted. {"He was a servant of one Madam Guille, a vile creature and user of the darkest necromancy. My friends and I battled her minions in Central Africa. Two friends of mine destroyed her, nearly dying in the fight. Viktor however fled, following her last command. He is helping Voldemort now, a Dark Lord we have been fighting for years."}

{"I understand,"} Catriona stated with forced calmness.

{"I assume Viktor is now staying at Naomh Leac,"} Harry guessed.

{"He is,"} Catriona nodded. {"He broke through the wards, entered the cavern and… defiled it. He corrupted the holy place and turned it into something ugly. He desecrated the tombs of my ancestors and forced their bones under his will."}

Harry felt sick. He heard Luna's sobbing and forced his left claw into an arm to hug her. The thought of Viktor not only helping Voldemort to regain a body but also offering him an army of…

{"He what? Raised them as undead?"}

{"Yes. Luckily he has only been able or willing to force his will on a fraction of the dragons entombed at that place. Still they are a mighty force – too strong for me to overpower alone, even without Viktor and the traps he prepared against my intrusion."}

{"You need our help."}

{"I do,"} Catriona stated calmly.

{"Why me?}" He wanted to know.

{"My fight against you was the only one I ever lost. You've grown stronger by far since then. You're Dian Sgiathan now. You're the embodiment of fire, as your friends are embodiments of the other elements. You will be able to help my kind. Now I can only hope you and your friends will be willing to help as well."}

Harry pondered the request for a while. He felt Luna's urge to help, for him to say yes. And he would do it. It didn't mean he couldn't use the opportunity for a bit of haggling. The sorting hat hadn't suggested putting him into Slytherin for nothing.

{"You are the guardian of Naomh Leac, so I assume you're holding a unique and important position among the dragons of Great Britain. They would listen to you?"}

{"They would,"} Catriona nodded.

{"Then we'll help you – on three conditions."} He sent out a calming wave towards Luna who started to object.

{"Name your conditions,"} Catriona stated calmly, who had expected nothing less to happen. The nature of his demands would speak volumes about this young man's honour.

{"Twelve uses of dragon blood are known to the wizards and witches of Britain,"} Harry stated calmly. {"I want you to give twelve pints of your blood to Hermione Granger for her to find other uses."}

Catriona narrowed her eyes but didn't deny the request. {"Continue!"}

{"There is a friend of mine. You know him. His name is Charley Weasley. I want you to teach him your tongue."} Harry only hoped this to be possible. Charley would be delighted about it, he knew.

{"Charley Weasley is an honourable man. He never saw only beasts in us like many others did. The request is acceptable. And your last request?"} Harry felt a little giddy as he imagined Charley's reaction to the news.

{"For hundreds of years the Dragons and Wyvern of Britain have been at each other's throats. I want to end this. I want a truce between our kinds. There aren't enough left of us to lose even more lives to this hunter's war. Tell the Dragons of Britain to stop hunting us. You are allowed to defend yourselves, but no more attacking on sight. If your hunting grounds overlap, you'll try to find a peaceful solution. After today, I want an armistice to be drawn between your kind and mine."} Perhaps it was a bit pretentious to see himself as a full-fledged Wyvern, but right now, with this scales and wings all over him, with the dream of a dragon hunting him over the sky still vivid in his mind, he couldn't feel anything else. Actually he had no idea how many Wyvern still lived in Britain. He would need the assistance of the Lovegood family to learn more about his "siblings".

{"In the name of the Dragons of Britain I accept your conditions."}

Neither Headmaster Flitwick nor his friends would ever forget the sight of Catriona and Wyvern-Harry "shaking claws" above Luna's beaming smile.

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_**A wee bit later**_

The four teenagers had prepared themselves for the battle. Gathering potions and scrolls, donning their armour and sheathing their daggers, Neville grabbed the poison-dipped Goblin spear he retrieved from the first battle site while Harry begged Daphne to shrink the fire stone before he put it into his pouch. The stone was still filled with magic from breaking through Dumbledore's elemental wards and while it was weaker than the water stone used by Hermione to erect a new well in Sudan, it still contained quite a bit of power. Harry had the feeling he would have use for it today.

Luna would accompany them. Not that Harry liked the idea all too much, but they needed her abilities to communicate with Catriona. Headmaster Flitwick had offered to use the powers of Hogwarts to accelerate their voyage. Instead of flying all the way down to Cornwall, they would follow one of the ley lines crossing under the castle. The one that went all the way south to Castle Tintagel. From there they would only be a thrown stone away to the holy cavern Catriona had mentioned. Luna would ride on Catriona together with Hermione and Neville, while Daphne would get a repeat of her New Year Wyvern flight. None of their familiars would accompany them today, not even Hedwig, despite their little friends being quite unhappy about this decision. The risk to lose them would simply be too great.

He wished they could take a couple of friends with them though. An Auror or two to assist them; Shaeffer would certainly be helpful in their fight against Viktor. His hand searched for the stake he got from the French Vampire. Each of the five teenagers got one. They belonged to a dozen stakes Baron Pascal prepared himself decades ago when the Vampire civil war roared all over Europe. The present was a sign of serious trust, Harry knew. Shaeffer himself, however, wasn't allowed to accompany them. Neither was anybody else. They would have to fight Viktor and Voldemort on holy ground; not only holy for the Dragons of Britain but also the Druidic community of Cornwall. They had to be careful. Harry could only attempt to imagine how Catriona felt about this intrusion.

As he left the castle and walked towards Catriona, he saw a girl standing there, glaring at the dragon. Harry smiled. He should have known this would happen. Millie hadn't even tried to convince Luna to stay behind. That didn't mean she liked the idea one bit. Now she was obviously telling the dragon to take good care of her girlfriend. Something along the line of _"bring her back in one piece or you'll have a first-hand experience why it is not a good idea to piss me off,"_ Harry was certain. Catriona actually looked impressed. Perhaps it was the mother-dragon in Catriona that made her appreciate Millie's protectiveness. Now and then he made a silent promise to take care of the blonde girl whaterver happened.

_You'll have her back in your arms, Millie. I'll make sure of it._

.

_**Cornwall**_

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_**Catriona**_

The farewell had been a tad weepy; the "flight" – if this weird ride along the ley line could be called such a thing – somewhat creepy. Sooner than imagined they had reached Tintagel and with barely a look at the castle ruins they had started the last leg of their journey. Catriona and Harry were moving through the air like some Muggle gliders, trying to make the flight less bumpy for their riders. Luna at least appeared to enjoy the experience, while Hermione had Neville to cling to, to her relief!

Luna and Daphne were the first to notice the outer wards. Some of them were meant to make visitors turn around and simply forget the place. Others had been placed all over the area to trigger an alarm in case of intruders. Catriona got a little restless as they approached the place.

{"There are special wards in place to keep Catriona away,"} Luna explained. {"She won't be able to follow us into the cave if they are as strong as it seems."} That was bad news but not too surprising. After her escape, Viktor certainly awaited her return and another try from her or her relatives. He would be stupid not to protect the place against such an intrusion.

A short time later they crossed the border of the protected area and they didn't have to wait too long to get a reaction. Noises filled the air, not unlike a swarm of crows racing towards them. Only it wasn't crows or any other kind of living birds. It wasn't even any kind of living creatures at all. Harry gulped and felt Daphne tense on his back, as a flock of bony creatures approached them. He counted five of them. They had been dragons once, in a time long forgotten. Now, there were only bones left, kept together by some unnatural magic. His Wyvern eyes allowed Harry to see the runes placed all over their bones. He had no idea how strong they were, but feared the worst.

_Undead Dragons_ – Harry rolled the words on his tongue. _Undead Dragons_ – and Voldemort had been so proud about his Inferi rabble. In comparison, they had been child's play. It also paled completely compared to what they had seen Madam Guille do in Africa. No wonder Meryem, the White Hag, and others, rated Voldemort as a minor nuisance in comparison to other threats. It didn't make the coming battle any less deadly though.

Catriona opened her mouth and greeted her relatives with a challenging roar full of emotional pain. Only a week ago they had been able to beat her and to have her fly away. She had failed her clan. Not now, not today – never again would she allow necromancy to keep her relatives from their well-deserved peaceful slumber. She roared again and flew a sharp bend, trusting her riders to stay in place because of the weird saddle Hermione had spell-crafted under Luna's watchful eyes. Three of their bony opponents moved to follow her, while the last pair started a pincer attack on Harry and Daphne.

.

_**Harry**_

Harry was reminded of a documentary he once saw: _Battle of Britain_. They circled each other like those pilots of the past, only with Dragons instead of fighter planes and preferring claws and teeth over machine guns. Not to forget the breath-weapons. Harry executed a side roll and hit one of the Dragons with a stream of fire. It bucked and dropped towards the ground, struggling to keep its bones together, the magic of the runes battling against the pure destructive energy of Harry's flame breath. He wasn't disabled for long, but Harry hoped they would be able to take care of the other Dragon before his comrade returned. The second charged him, moving into position to use its own breath weapon. Harry pulled up and a wave of four inch bone splinters sizzled through the air below him.

{"Over there,"} Daphne directed him towards a needle-like stone column. Harry turned around, using his greater agility to dodge the dragon's mighty jaws. As they approached the column, he noticed a barely visible cloud taking shape fifty feet above it. Tiny lightning bolts danced within the cloud.

{"You're reading too many X-Men Comics,"} Harry teased. This got him a little jab in return; not that he really felt it with his scales protecting him. {"Shush you."} She blushed, knowing that he was right. Since Hermione had used Air magic for a bit of hovering against the Werewolves in Diagon Alley, Daphne had tried to diversify her Air magic abilities. Hovering was high on her list and she had promised Harry to teach it to him as well. With her fire spells still on the weaker side, she had been looking for other ways to put an enemy down. It had been Draco of all persons who made her connect with "Storm" from the X-Men. _"She seems to use powers similar to your Air magic. Perhaps she can give you an idea or two." _Despite her disbelieving face then, he had been right. And one of those ideas had been lightning. _At least she stayed with the robes_, Harry grinned. _On the other hand: Daphne certainly would look good in such a revealing costume_.

Continuing his nimble dogfight, several times escaping the dragon's attacks only barely, he manoeuvred his enemy into a position where he had to pass the gap between column and cloud if he wanted to continue the attack on the shortest route. Harry flapped his right wing wildly as if it had been injured in the last blast of bone splinters the Dragon used for a breath weapon. The Dragon fell for the trap and raced towards his "helpless prey". The moment he passed the gap, a mighty lightning bolt erupted from the cloud and raced towards the column, straight through the dragon. It fried him instantly, proving that even an undead dragon couldn't withstand 20,000 amperes. The magical creation was reduced to nothingness and the fully formed skeletal dragon became a heap of hundreds of separate bones, descending towards the ground at great speed before pelting it like some kind of creepy hail.

_One down, one to go_, Harry mused as he turned around. _Well done, Daphne_.

.

_**Catriona**_

Things were direr for the Catriona-Rider team on the other side of the battle-field. Not only did the dragon have three beasts chasing her; she also wasn't as agile as Harry, leading to a couple of hits, mostly to her wings, despite Hermione and Neville doing their best to protect them from the onslaught. More than one bone slinter or wicked claw had perforated Catriona's wings and unlike her skeletal cousins she needed her wings intact to perform accurately in the air. While she was stronger and faster than her undead cousins, Catriona felt injuries and exhaustion far more. She got slower now and the fight even more dangerous. They got a bit of relief as they passed the flank of a stony hill and Neville used earth magic to hurl dozens of quaffle-sized rocks against the pursuing dragon's flank, breaking a couple of bones and sending him to the ground, at least for the moment.

Realizing that Catriona wouldn't endure the flock of attacks for much longer, Hermione steered her towards the open see. She needed water for her plan and much of it.

{"There is a tunnel,"} Neville stated absent-mindedly, while wondering what his girlfriend had in mind. Hermione simply nodded. She had felt the tunnel as well. It seemed to connect the sea with the holy cavern and was big enough to allow even a dragon to pass in it. However, she expected it to be protected somehow. Still, it was something to keep in mind. Neville startled as Hermione started to sing. Not that it was so bad, but it sounded somewhat creepy. Alright, it sounded bad, honestly, but that wasn't Hermione's fault. She was using her magic to create something Neville had only heard once, back in fourth year when Harry had to prepare for his second task: Mermen singing. It was shrill, it sounded dissonant, and it made his ears bleed. However, it showed an interesting effect on the water.

They were a good three hundred yards away from the coast now. The sea was already more than forty yards deep at this point, thanks to the steep slope of the ocean floor. At least, the sea had been that deep until Hermione started to screech her non-song. Within seconds the sea started to foam and a swirling vortex came into existence. While Catriona led her pair of pursuers on a happy chase above the whirlpool, the swirl got deeper and deeper until Neville was able to see the ground beneath. He grinned, understanding what Hermione had in mind. As fast as possible, not to allow the dragons any time to realize the danger and escape the attack, he summoned tons of earth, stone and mud from the sea ground, plastering the dragons with this very special kind of body decorations. Flapping wildly to stay in the air, the dragons were unable to withstand the additional weight. One by one they plummeted to the ground and vanished in the whirlpool waiting for them. Hermione, thick beads of sweat on her forehead, released the water from its magical bindings again and it came crashing back, hundreds of tons of sea water crunching the skeletal dragons and leaving behind barely enough to identify what they had been.

_Stone and Water, a deadly combination_, Neville grinned.

{"Return to the ground, Catriona,"} Luna directed the dragon. The dragon was injured far more than Neville had realized. The wings needed some serious healing and he didn't like the trio of long gashes racing down her spine. Slowly they advanced towards the coast, Hermione helping her as much as possible with an Air cushion supporting Catriona's weight. They would make it, but barely. Neville already saw a passable place for landing. But the third dragon, that had used the break to recover, was awaiting them. He narrowed his eyes, watching Hermione with concern. She needed some time to get a breath as well. He would have to take care of this one. His face split into a broad grin as he noticed the mountain flank close by with dozens of boulders just lying around.

_Time to play catapult again!_

.

_**Luna**_

"You should stay with Catriona," Harry uttered with a slight pout on his face, knowing fully that the negotiation was lost before it even started.

"You'll need me for the wards," Luna calmly replied.

She hated the idea of leaving Catriona behind. After getting rid of the dead dragons, they had met again and Daphne had cast a couple of healing spells on their friend and ally. However she had to pace herself, as she would need every ounce of power to battle what awaited ahead.

"Daphne could…"

"I'm better at detecting them," Luna stopped him, fiddling with her crown.

"She's right and you know it," Daphne agreed with the blonde girl.

She didn't like the idea either to risk her dreamy friend, but they had to act fast. They had to take the war to Viktor before he had a chance to cause even more problems. Those five dragons wouldn't be his only defences.

Harry sighed defeated. "Alright – but you have to stay with us all the time. And please be careful."

"You only fear what Millie would do to you, should something happen to Luna," Neville grinned.

"I'm a wise man," Harry deadpanned, ignoring the lifted eyebrows of the girls. "Naturally I fear her wrath."

Luna smiled softly and responded surprisingly serious: "I'll be careful." _I really could use one of Millie's hugs right now._

.

_**Harry**_

As they approached the entrance of the cavern complex, Harry felt the wards that prohibited Catriona from entering the place. Perhaps it was his Wyvern Animagus form that allowed him to do so, as neither Daphne nor Luna felt the same.

"Explosive runes over there," Luna gestured and a handful of blueflames of hers had barely time to tag the positions before Neville used a couple buckets full of earth and stone to trigger them.

"Now he knows for certain that someone is coming," Harry deadpanned.

Neville only shrugged, looking unremorseful. With the last fight in the air, every living and unliving being most certainly knew about their presence already. Daphne and Hermione followed Luna's lead and disabled a few more traps and wards, getting a refreshing waft of energy from Neville now and then to keep them going.

"This is too easy," Harry growled.

The dogfight had been dangerous and difficult, but not overly so. He expected far more to happen before they got a shot at Voldywarts. Admittedly, Luna's presence eased the intrusion significantly.

"This is wonderful," Luna gasped as they entered the cavern and got a first look.

The four friends had to agree. There was no denying that this place was very special. The main cavern was gargantuan; easily a hundred paces across if not more and twenty to thirty paces high. The ceiling was supported by five natural stone columns, forming a loose circle around a picturesque pond – the one connected to the sea by a tunnel. Nearly a dozen entrances from side caverns were visible. Some of them were closed off with thick slabs of stone, certainly weighing several tons each. Two more of those entrances had their former "doors" lying around, broken into dozens of head-sized pieces. Others looked unused so far, perhaps waiting for later dragon generations to occupy them.

"He's over there," Luna gestured towards the far end of the cavern. Harry nodded, feeling Voldemort as well.

"It won't be easy to get the both of you across the chamber," Neville uttered. Harry frowned, looking a little confused. "You have to take care of Voldypants. Luna has to go with you to take care of the wards and traps."

Harry narrowed his eyes, not liking were this was going. "And you?"

Neville shrugged. "We'll take care of the landlord." He gestured towards two the side entrances, where a whole army of creatures started to spill off. Harry recognized all kind of animals that had been living in Cornwall over the last two or three Millennia. Cows and horses, goats and sheep, dogs and wolves, bears and hunting cats; there were even a handful of wisent. The woolly cousins of the domesticated cattle hadn't been seen around Britain since the days of Merlin. More and more of them started to fill the edges of the cavern. Different as they were, they had one thing in common: not a single one of them still lived. Some looked rotten, with flesh peeling from their bones. Others were fully skeletal or had a mummified look like some taxidermist had been working on putting them into a museum of natural history. Harry had no time to wonder about the reason of their presence, as the last pair of servants entered the chamber side by side with their master: skeletal dragons.

"Shit!" Harry cursed. "I can't let you handle this on your own. There are simply too many of them. Not to forget Viktor…" Madam Guille's servant was keeping back for now, but that wouldn't last. The moment he said his part, Harry felt that whatever he wanted to do, he had to act fast. A single glance towards Luna told him that she felt it too. "He's awakening."

"We stick to Neville's plan," Luna uttered, dragging Harry with her towards Voldemort's lair.

.

_**Viktor**_

There they were at last. Viktor smiled thinly as the five teenagers came in sight. He had expected their arrival, had already guessed that the dragon warden would call them in. He had no idea how and why she knew them, how she had been able to convince the elemental quartet to help her; and in the end he didn't give a flying fig about it. It was his fate to die fighting them, had been since his vow to stay true to Madam Guille's pledge of assistance despite her incoming death. Today he would be able to fulfil his vow.

His wish to die didn't mean he would go easy on them. He wouldn't throw away his life for nothing. He would use his enormous talents as well as possible and actually try to kill as many as he could. However, he was able to choose his own battle; and the time of choice arrived right now as he saw one of them change into a wyvern again, before crossing the cavern towards the side chamber where Voldemort was stirring from his slumber. A single rider was on his back: the blonde girl that didn't belong to the elemental quartet. Her presence was a surprise, and her aura pained him. Something about her prompted feelings in his chest that hadn't been there for a long time; that had long been forgotten. She was purity and spirit personified. Her presence made it easier for him to choose his battle. The wyvern was their strongest fighter and while he wasn't certain about the outcome of a duel between him and Voldemort, he was hoping for the best – the best in this case being the painful death of a worthless Dark Lordling.

"Godspeed, Potter!" He whispered. At least it meant something similar in a language long forgotten even among most scholars. Viktor turned around, towards the other three teenagers. He felt their magic across the chamber. This would be a furious battle, a battle worthy of tales and songs in the netherworld. He knocked on the shoulder blade of the dragon to his right: "Attack!"

.

_**Hermione**_

"Pulsus Venti!"

Hermione needed a little moment to create her first elemental effect, and so it was Daphne who opened fire, starting the battle of the cavern with a strong gust of wind that hit the leading dragon as he took to the air, intending to attack them. The gust was strong enough to push him away and knock him into the wall of the cavern, rattling him thoroughly and delaying his attack.

Neville mumbled something in Gobbledegook, smiling evilly as he watched the changes he intended take shape. The dozens of animal servants obeying Viktor's command had started to rush towards them, following the pond's shores to the left and right. Those on the left were closer to the three teenagers, so he started on that side. First the ground turned muddy, slowing them down. At least the smaller ones felt the effect; some of the bigger ones more or less ignored it. Then a low wall started to rise from the ground, blocking the passage between pond and cavern wall. Some of the cats and wolves were able to jump over the wall, but many others were stopped. The deadly looking wisents, especially, had to find another way. And so they did.

Following their lead, the bulk of animals started to trudge into the water, slowly finding their way around the wall. This however only allowed Hermione's spell to take its effect in an even deadlier way. The pond wasn't deep or broad enough to allow water magic of the scale she used over the open sea to happen, but the little water wave was still high and strong enough to drown many animals. Undead, they actually couldn't be suffocated, but a few tons of water was more than enough to break a few rips and legs; others, especially a trio of wisents, was dragged towards the middle of the pond and twenty feet under, taking them out of the battle for a couple of minutes at least.

To the right, another horde of animals gathered around the formerly stunned dragon. The imposing creature had recovered from the impact and advanced towards the trio once again, while its undead brother stayed with Viktor, behaving like a good little watchdog. Viktor had so far only watched the show, no emotion visible on his face. Only now did he start to weave a couple of spells, hurling a number of glowing spheres towards his servants. Some of them started to glow in a green, eerie light, the dragon especially, while others got covered in a cloud of mosquitos as it seemed. Neville didn't like this one bit.

"Sphaera fulguralis!"

Neville glanced to the left as Daphne let go of a sphere-like lightning bolt towards the group of animals that had been able to overcome his obstacles. It crossed the distance to the leading hunting cat within a split-second and burned it to cinders, before jumping to a wolf running alongside the cat. It destroyed or seriously damaged another three of their attackers before losing its force. Rightly assuming that the spell would exhaust her, Neville sent her a waft of revitalising energy that earned him a thankful smile.

_There are too many_, Hermione mused in the meantime. _Harry has been right. Even with the pond supporting my water magic_… She hesitated_. The pond… the pond connected with the open sea_, a grin split her face. Seconds later she started to screech again, sending her Mermen song into the pond and beyond. _Hopefully she'll notice_.

.

_**Catriona**_

Catriona felt uneasy and slightly irritated because she was unable to take part in the battle occurring only a hundred paces away. She felt like a traitor, calling in their help only to leave them on their own mid-battle. Again and again she tried to get past the wards, but it was futile. They were too strong, matching even her enormous might.

Catriona whirled around as a sudden noise from the open sea caught her attention. It stemmed from a pillar of water that erupted from the surface, all up to a height of around thirty feet. It looked like a geyser or a whale exhaling, the origin not discernible for now; only this column of water was screeching in an irritating way. Having nothing else to do, Catriona took to the air and flew towards the sea and the pillar of water, circling it for a while without finding a solution to the riddle, before deciding to have a closer look. While a creature of the air, she had no qualms about swimming and even diving, her lungs strong enough to allow her to keep her breath for several minutes without exhaustion.

She plunged into the water like an over-sized osprey. Catriona had barely broken through the surface when the screeching stopped and turned into a wonderful song, a song that was calling out for her.

"Catriona! Follow me, Catriona."

She knew that voice. _So she found a way_, Catriona's jaws moved into something other dragons would have recognized as a content smile. Folding her wings around her body, Catriona started to move her body like a snake winding her way through the sand, her mighty tail pushing her enormous body towards her destination.

_I'm coming._

.

_**Luna**_

Harry's blonde rider felt a little bit like one of those dragon knights from that fantasy book series she got from Daphne and Hermione last Christmas. Sitting on Harry's back, holding the goblin spear she got from Neville like a lance, riding towards death and doom – hopefully Voldemort's. She wasn't her dreamy self today but realized the danger all too well. Luna really hoped she would be back at Hogwarts tonight, snuggling into Millie's broad chest. However, despite her valid fear, she wanted to be nowhere else than at her friends' side. It was the right place to be.

Passing Viktor's horde of undead followers, Luna put her hands on Harry's shoulder scales. {"They will be alright, Harry. They'll beat him, and Neville will protect the girls. We can't help them; we have our own battle to win."} Harry nodded, knowing how right she was. Voldemort was awakening, he could feel it. For a couple more minutes he would be disoriented or so he hoped at least. They had to use this time span for a first strike, to weaken him as much as possible.

{"Left!"}

{"Left!"}

{"Sharp right!"}

Luna destroyed a couple of smaller runes and wards, guiding him around the more dangerous ones. They had left the main chamber, left Viktor, the duo of dragons and the skeletal horde behind, only to follow a narrow tunnel towards a side chamber. The tunnel wasn't broad enough for the dragons to follow him and even he needed every shred of his seeker agility to manoeuvre the twists without hitting the walls. Han Solo in his Millennium Falcon would have been proud.

One last curve and their destination came in sight. The side chamber was far smaller than the main one but still big enough: more than twenty yards across and nearly twenty feet high in the middle. And there he was, the target of their little excursion, the object of his troubled dreams: Voldemort.

As guessed Voldemort was already in his new body and wide awake. He looked different, but that had to be expected. Madam Guille had chosen well. He looked impressive and handsome, but in a nearly inhuman and otherworldly way. _How had they called this technique?_ _Flesh-shaping!_ Voldemort was standing strong and tall, with broad shoulders and the V-shape male models had in those Coke commercials. Nearly seven feet tall and with his hair mane longer than most Muggles would wear it, he obviously went for that Wagner/Nordic-hero style.

_He looks a little bit confused still_, Harry noticed, hoping that this was for real and not simply show to draw him in. Having no time to spare, he turned a little to the left and flew towards Voldemort. He would pass him but barely, close enough to attack him with his breath and perhaps even get a chance for a claw attack. Hitting him with his tail sting would be icing on the cake. While it felt like minutes, only three seconds had passed since Voldemort came in sight until Harry decided to go into attack mode. Another two seconds to cross the short distance, open his jaws and inhale deeply; two seconds until he watched Voldemort look up and realize there wasn't surprise on his enemy's face but a knowing smirk.

The next second everything happened at the same time, it seemed, the outcome being a surprise for everybody. Harry valiantly tried to change direction, his fiery breath only grazing Voldemort and getting deflected by some formerly invisible shield. As he passed him, he saw Voldemort lift his wand and utter something. Knowing that he would present Voldemort his unshielded back in a moment, Harry made a side-roll, hoping for the best. It actually saved him as the pale green spell missed his back by only a hand's breath.

What neither Harry nor Voldemort expected was Luna's reaction. Instead of clinging to Harry's back for dear life, trying not to lose her hold because of Harry's sudden manoeuvre, she did exactly the opposite. Letting go of Harry, kicking against his scales to propel her towards Voldemort, she crossed the short distance in no time. Her target barely had a chance to notice the attack, just a split-second to start a dodging move, before Luna hit him, goblin spear ahead. Its tip pierced his left shoulder, smashing through shield and protective runes like a hot knife through butter. Two hand-breadth lower and the fight would have been over already. But even so the injury was nothing Voldemort could ignore, not to speak of the poison slowly entering his blood stream.

Just as Harry finished his manoeuvre and started to wonder about the lack of weight on his back, he saw Luna letting go of her weapon still stuck in Voldemort's body. She executed a long, flying dive through the air and crashed – not very gracefully and quite painfully – to the ground a couple steps away. Voldemort turned towards her, hot fury and pure hate on his face. Luckily he didn't curse Luna – at least not immediately – but went for the spear still in his shoulder. Perhaps he was able to feel the poison and wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible. He screamed in pain as he simply ripped the weapon out of his body and tossed it aside, breaking it in the same motion. Interestingly the wound didn't close immediately despite the runes' work. Instead the wound continued to bleed. Goblins obviously knew their weapon-smithing.

Assuming that Voldemort would attack Luna now, and fearing that his friend had no way to defend herself from a serious attack, Harry steered himself into position for another attack, this one executed with his tail. However, Voldemort felt the second attacker in time and swirled around. Harry nonetheless continued, knowing it was too late to abort the attack. He had to follow through with his plan and hope for the best. Regretfully, he had no such luck. His tail sting darting towards Voldemort, but the man dodged the attack with inhuman speed. His wand still in his left hand – he had switched hands to pull the spear from his shoulder – he grabbed Harry's tail with his right and pulled with all strength. It shouldn't have been possible. Even the attempt to stop a nearly full-grown wyvern in full flight should have torn apart his arm and shoulder, whirling Voldemort through the chamber like a children's doll. However, it didn't happen like this. His strong body only bucked a little; he had to make a single step forward and dig his feet in, but he executed this feat of raw strength without a fault. Voldemort even had the breath to spare to smirk, obviously happy about the abilities of his new body.

Harry on the other hand felt his fly come to a sudden and painful end, felt the tear in his tail that ravaged muscles and sinews alike, perhaps even broke a bone or two. For a second he simply hovered in the air, the momentum keeping him floating. Then gravity kicked in and he came crashing down. He didn't like the snickering sound in his back one bit.

.

_**Neville**_

"Tempestas!"

A strong gust of wind hit a dozen creatures to the left and forced them to the ground. It even lifted a couple of the smaller ones into the air and smashed them against Neville's newly created stone barrier. Daphne immediately followed up with a chain lightning spell that destroyed the last duo of wolves on this side. Energizing her was second nature to Neville now, while he concentrated on other matters at hand. Daphne seemed to be able to take care of the host to the left. However, there was the other danger incoming, a second undead horde following a skeletal dragon. Not to speak of the biggest danger: Viktor. He was now riding the second dragon but hadn't taken to the air so far. _What was he waiting for?_

{"Do you need any help?"}

Hermione shook her head in response to his question.

{"Protect Catriona"} She whispered back, starting to weave a spell he didn't know.

The sight of her drawing her goblin knife was a little disturbing, but he had a job to do. Like Hermione he felt Catriona following the tunnel from the sea towards the pond within the cavern. They could really use her help herein as he had the feeling that these animal servant hordes were only child's play compared to Viktor himself. There was one tiny flaw to that thought however: the tunnel was trapped. Neville didn't nearly possess the knowledge and talent for Runes Harry had shown so far, but he had learned enough to recognize that the runes placed all over the tunnel walls and ceiling were meant to create a cave-in and trap any unwelcome intruder under tons of stone.

_The runes will cause explosions, probably like those explosives Muggles use in mining sites. The blast wave will shatter the structure and break off dozens of big boulders from the rock around the tunnel. The rock _… Neville grinned. _If there isn't any rock, it can't be split off by the explosion. Hermione uses water shields to protect us from kinetic attacks. I could do the same with a thick layer of mud_.

"Gund U Bot!"

For the second time this year he used that special Goblin spell. This time it was even more difficult than at the duelling grounds, because he was unable to see the destination. He had to trust his earth senses, his magic reaching through the stone towards the tunnel walls, encompassing and changing them. A thick layer of stone turned into mud as Catriona passed the tunnel. The tunnel, the rock and the mud, the runes waiting to be released, the whirling water and the mighty body of an enraged dragon – he was able to feel them all. Now he had to wait and see if his plan was as flawless as hoped.

.

_**Hermione**_

She allowed herself a moment of contentment, a tiny part of her magic following Neville's ongoing actions. Naturally she could have helped Catriona as well, only with a different choice of spells. However, she was a tad preoccupied right now. There were simply too many attackers around to take care of them all like Daphne did. The trio would be too exhausted to battle Viktor afterwards. Perhaps this was exactly the reason why he had stayed back so far. No, she simply had to take out a big chunk of that undead army at once and was currently working on it.

"_Alright, I'll teach you. But you have to be very careful with this spell," Brychan Camwy had told her months ago. "Promise me that you won't use it before coming of age and only if there is no other way."_

He got his promise and she got the spell. Four weeks ago she reached adulthood, as the oldest member of the elemental quartet. This wasn't exactly a water spell, but according to Brychan her magic was closer to it than the others. He had reasoned that she would have easier access to this spell than he, that the result would be stronger. Hopefully he had been right.

Vanishing her left sleeve, Hermione clenched her jaws and tightened her grip around the dagger. _This will hurt_. The dagger's tip pierced her skin; Hermione pushed forward, drawing a long bloody line down her arm, careful not to hit any important sinew or to cut an artery. It wouldn't do if she fainted with blood loss before finishing the spell. Neville watched her with concern, but stayed silent, for which she was thankful. Blood quelled from the wound. Using the goblin dagger like a wand, she weaved a spell towards the second animal horde around the dragon. This dragon was her exact target right now. Her blood didn't drop to the ground but followed her motions, gathering around the dagger's tip, the blob of blood increasing in size as it soaked in more and more of her blood.

"Bombarda incendarius Sanguinis!"

365 days ago Brychan had used the same spell to kill Goyle senior and rescue Amelia Bones; 365 days – it only not being a full year because 1996 was a leap year. _Funny what a befuddled mind can think about_, Hermione thought as she watched the blob of blood race towards the dragon. She felt exhaustion kick in seriously; she knew that without the near pond and Neville instantly supporting her, she would have fainted by now. The dragon didn't even try to dodge the attack. _He has no idea about the nature of the danger he will be soon facing_, Hermione's exhausted mind mused lazily. She didn't notice Viktor's look, the curt nod or the hint of a smile. She only saw her attack hit the thick head bone of the dragon and explode in a thundering burst of magic as the blood bomb spell performed its destructive work.

The dragon's head vanished in the explosion. The body kept standing for a few seconds, before it crumpled to the ground, shattering into hundreds of unconnected bones. More than half of the animal horde surrounding it got destroyed as well, more than a dozen being pulverized into bone dust, while many more skeletons shattered, getting hurled against the wall or flung into the pond.

The blast of the explosion even reached the trio and rocked their bodies, the impact being the last straw for Hermione. She sank to the ground, barely able to keep her eyes open. Her field of vision narrowed as unconsciousness tried to claim her, but it was big enough still to recognize Neville's concerned face as he bent over.

"Everything is fine, Nev," Hermione mumbled with a completely foreign voice. He used some spell on her arm; the Earth/Water-bandage spell he used in the duel. "I know that spell," she giggled, feeling more than a tad light-hearted from the blood loss. His magic was washing all over her body. It wasn't enough to break through the fog that filled her head however. Sleep, she only wanted to sleep. To close her eyes, for a minute only, was that too much to ask?

Suddenly Neville's face wasn't there anymore. Hermione frowned. She wanted her Nev back. Somebody else came into sight. Hermione was too tired to recognize them. The fog nearly completely blocked out everything around. It would be so easy to succumb to her wish to sleep. Then everything changed. Pain raced through her body. It felt similar to the time she had examined a wall socket in her parents' house as a small child. Her mother had been furious. It had been the one time her mother had actually slapped her – before nearly hugging her to death. A second wave of pain gripped her nerves.

_It's Daphne_, Hermione's mind realized, coming back to earth now from her sweet slumber land. She used a nerve stimulation spell, enhanced with her control over lightning forces. Not the nicest way to wake somebody up, but sure as hell effective.

"I'm awake, I'm awake," Hermione hastily uttered, hoping to avoid a third treatment. Everything hurt, but she was wide-awake.

"Good," Daphne grinned, a hint of fake disappointment on her face.

"You enjoyed that way too much," Hermione growled. She glanced around. The battle was far from over.

.

_**Harry**_

Minerva McGonagall's "inner cat" would have been proud, watching Harry tumble and flip acrobatically as he dodged Voldemort's spells. Jumping in the air and to the left, he executed a graceful somersault and turned back into his human form at the same time. Now a far smaller target again, the vicious cutting curse sent his way only hit empty air where his right wing had been a split-second before. His feet had barely hit the ground before he begun firing a barrage of spells against his opponent.

"Pulsus! Lancea! Expelliarmus! Scutum!"

He opened fire with a gust of wind spells like Daphne's, only adding fire to the attack, hitting Voldemort with a fistful of boiling hot air not unlike the steam from a kettle. It didn't injure him very much, but it certainly distracted him for a second and tears shot in his eyes. Instinctively he jumped back, the Lancea spell missing his face by only an inch or two.

_Apparently I can't disarm him this easily_, Harry mused as his spell didn't send the wand flying, but merely rattled in Voldemort's hand. He hated the sight of "_no-longer-snake-man_" using Hagrid's first wand, felt ill as he noticed the close connection between host body and Horcrux. He noticed Voldemort lift his wand to return fire and used the moment to protect Luna before the fight continued. The Scutum spell created a shield of hot air, contorting the sight around his small friend and creating something like a mirage. With a bit of luck, Voldemort would miss her a couple of times before he realized what happened.

Luna however had no desire to stand back and watch the show. Harry's eyes widened as she started to hum some silly melody and to skip around like a little girl on a playground. He had no time to think about it for long, occupied as he was jumping and dodging around like mad. Unlike Voldemort he didn't have the comfort of a nearly indestructible body. He actually had to actively avoid deadly spells instead of soaking them up. Voldemort simply weathered the Reducto, and while the second Lancea drilled a hole through his left thigh, it only slowed him down for a few seconds until the runes closed the wound again.

Harry didn't trust his fire magic completely in this fight, with Voldemort being strong in that kind of magic as well, as they had learned while disarming the traps around the diadem at Hogwarts. He was just thinking about his next move while distracting Voldemort with a couple of half-hearted attacks, when his opponent suddenly started to move around in a funny way. His following attacks missed Harry by far, and he jumped back, fanning around with his hand like he wanted to get rid of some annoying insects. There was nothing to see, but a hasty glance in Luna's direction told him enough.

"_Wrackspurts_", she mouthed in his direction.

Could it be possible? The last years taught Harry to believe in Luna's mystical creatures. Even Hermione wasn't as sceptical about them as she had been. However, Luna to be able to even summon them to do her bidding was a big step. Whatever it was Luna did to the man, Harry wasn't willing to squander the chance. A wave of his hand turned the ground below Voldemort into knee-deep morass, making him stumble. A second wave hardened it again, trapping one of his feet, while Voldemort was able to pull the other one free just in time.

"Pugnus saxeus!"

His stone fist spell wasn't nearly as strong as Neville's, but still good enough to knock his opponent down.

"Finite incantatem!" It was a mistake of his deadly opponent, probably caused by the distraction of the "Wrackspurts", to think he could simply dispel the magic harassing him.

The invisible insects still whirled around his face and the stone had already turned back into stone, the _finite _doing nothing to it. A mundane wizard would have lost the battle already. Regretfully, Voldemort was far tougher than this. Harry was able to hit him with nearly a dozen different spells, from cutting curses and Lanceas to elemental spells of the fire, air/lightning and earth variant. Nothing seemed to cause more than a little pain and small wounds that healed within moments. Then Voldemort was suddenly free again, at last finding the correct mix of spells to get rid of the stone trap around his foot. He still had found no way to dispel the "insects", something that annoyed Voldemort immensely as it seemed and delighted Luna in equal measure.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The next spell certainly proved that the fight turned more serious now. Harry's heart missed a beat or two as the sickly green spell raced towards Luna. Despite his knowledge about the mirage spell, for a second even Harry was convinced that the girl would be hit. The air wavered slightly around Luna, but nothing more happened. Voldemort frowned, trying to solve this strange puzzle.

"Carnifex!" Harry hissed angrily, his concern about Luna slowly loosening the coils of self-control around his fiery temper. The whip of flame and light, developed to battle Dementors and similar creatures of darkness, actually made Voldemort stagger. His bootlaces, following Luna's silent command to entangle themselves, turned his stagger into a free fall and he crashed to the ground a second time. Harry followed up with another Carnifex, this one formed like a three-layered coil around his opponent, equally burning his skin and trying to shackle him.

"Enough of this child's play," the voice boomed through the chamber.

Burning a portion of the excess magic stored in his artificial body, Voldemort ripped the flaming ropes away like brittle yarn. The runes under his skin glowed in an eerie light, making them visible even for Luna and Harry. Bashing away Harry's next spell, Voldemort got on his feet again and brandished his wand. Completely ignoring Luna's spells for now, he did his best to kill his nemesis. He tossed entrails-expelling curses, reaper, and other lethal spells at him like they were caramels.

Harry was barely able to dodge those attacks and was only rarely able to reciprocate the fire. Only a thin earth magic skin detained his entrails from making an appearance, and he nearly lost his left hand to a reaper spell if a spell from Luna hadn't summoned some strange and barely visible creature to pulled him out of harm's way just in time. He sent her a thankful glance, cursing his stupidity a moment later because he drew attention to her doing. Voldemort whirled around and uttered a hasty spell. The mirage spell had ended sometime while Harry was occupied trying to stay alive. Not that Voldemort would fall for the same trick another time.

"Pulsus!"

"Aestuate!"

Both spells were cast at the same time, Harry executing his perhaps a tiny tad faster. However, he wasn't fast enough to stop or misdirect the attack completely. His gust of wind hurled Voldemort to the side and made him stagger, but only a second later Luna's wail filled the air, as every fluid in her body started to boil, be it the blood in her veins, the saliva in her mouth or the water in her eyes. It was obviously an immensely painful spell, a spell that would cause permanent damage if not stoped very fast if Luna even survived it.

Racing towards his friend who was trashing with pain on the ground, Harry realized that Voldemort would recover from his last attack very soon – too soon to allow him the time to cast the spell he had in mind. He needed a distraction.

"Eibad Alnnar!" He wasn't certain that he remembered the Arabic spell correctly. Certainly his pronunciation was far off and force of mind and raw magical power had to compensate, as did his imagination and determination. Voldemort actually stopped as he heard the foreign spell, waiting for the result. It wasn't a surprise to notice that even the master of creepy spells and of fiery occupation didn't recognize this one, as Harry had learned it from the book had Meryem gifted him, written more than thirteen centuries ago. As the fire obeyed his command, Harry felt the fire stone in his pocket hum in response. He frowned for a second, but pushed the thought aside: _Luna first_.

_Servants of the fire _would be the literal translation of the spell, and servants of the fire were indeed appearing out of thin air to attack and harass Voldemort. A handful of "things" followed Harry's call, vaguely looking like sleek dogs created from pure fire. They wouldn't kill him, wouldn't even hurt him seriously, Harry knew, but hopefully Voldemort wouldn't be able to ignore them. So far it looked good. Harry weaved spells like crazy, trying to remember everything Daphne taught him about the healing arts. Countering the boiling with cooling magic, pumping Luna with regenerative magic, and doing his best to stop the deadly magic from cooking her eyes like eggs, he realized very soon this wouldn't be enough to save her. Voldemort had already destroyed two of the five servants, after an unsuccessful attempt to force them under his command. Soon he would be free to attack him again.

{"What is that incantation for a medical stasis spell again?"} He sent out the urgent call, forcing himself not to notice the pain in Daphne's mind as some spell or attack hit her. Fortunately, she had the presence of mind to instantly answer his question and not to wonder about the weird request itself.

{"Prohibeo Curriculum Temporis"}, her answer reached him just in time together with the representations of the necessary gestures. He had to cast the spell three times, he remembered. And again he had to enforce the spell to compensate for his lack of experience, squandering even more of his power. Not for the first time he promised himself to learn more spells, to diversify like the girls did all the time. _I'll do that_, Harry nodded to himself while he cast the spell for the first time – _if I survive this mess_…

Two servants left, Voldemort's cloak was fuming and one of his sleeves was aflame. Harry cast the spell a second time, feeling the exhaustion. Without Neville's assistance he would have to find another source of power to rekindle his inner flame. But he already had something in mind.

One servant left, he moved around to keep Voldemort in sight while he cast the spell for the last time, strengthening it with as much power as he dared to give. Luna should be safe for a while, until some real healer – and a curse-breaker – was able to have a look at her. Hopefully they could heal her completely. Harry pushed the thought aside. Oh how he wished to have the ability to protect her by safekeeping her deep in the ground like Baron Pascal did. He wanted Luna out of harm's way while he dealt with his opponent. He sighed. _It's no use thinking about the impossible_, he scolded himself. The earth magic he learned from Neville had to do for now.

"Sepulcrum terrae!" He incanted while moving his hands as if he wanted to build a small hill of sand on the beach. Just as the last servant of fire made its final breath, Harry finished his spell. A small mound now covered his friend. Hopefully it would protect Luna long enough.

Standing up, his flaming eyes resting on his nemesis as his hand searched for the fire stone in his pocket, a vicious smile drawing itself around Harry's lips: "Nobody hurts my friends and gets away with it; time for a little dance, Tommy-boy."

.

_**Daphne**_

Suppressing the anxiety she felt after answering Harry's question, and about Luna's condition as this was the only sensible explanation for this weird request, Daphne and her friends addressed their actual problem at hand. Most of the animal servants Viktor ordered to attack the teenagers had already been destroyed. Daphne had wondered about the reason of their presence. Had they been ritualistic sacrifices, meant to honour a dead dragon? Had they simply been drawn to this place by its aura of eternal peace, bestowed onto the place after millennia of dragons gracing this place on their day of departure? She didn't know. It certainly represented an intellectual riddle for another day.

Now the remaining forces gathered for one last attack. More importantly: the chief occupier of this unholy army was swooping in on his last "surviving" dragon. Luckily the ceiling was too low for real flying, at least for something as big as a fifty-feet skeleton. It was more like clumsy gliding and flapping when dragon and rider approached their position.

"Pugnus saxeus!" Lifting both fists towards the incoming dragon, Neville wandlessly hurled two stone missiles at the flying menace. One missed, if barely, but the other hit a joint of its left wing, mercilessly shattering the bones and sending the dragon to the ground. Regretfully it wasn't high enough to cause serious falling damage, but at least the dragon's days of flying around were numbered. The dragon barely hit the ground before Viktor jumped from his lofty seat. He wasn't fast enough however to dodge Daphne's attack. A deadly chain of lightning hit him straight into the chest. It would have been deadly to any other opponent at least, but this one however reacted in a weird manner.

"Shit!" Daphne mumbled as the lightning only illuminated Viktor's body and made him translucent for a moment like in one of those "Tom and Jerry" cartoons, as he soaked up the energy instead of succumbing to it. He actually looked healthier now. Absent-mindedly Daphne mused about their opponent's name. Baron Pascal told them that Madam Guille called him Viktor, presumably after Viktor Frankenstein, the renowned novel character. She may actually have had his golem in mind, the Frankenstein monster that presumably had been able to charge up through hits of natural and artificial lightning.

"Scutum Aquae!" A thirty feet wall of water was called into place by Hermione, yanking Daphne away from her thoughts, as Viktor pulled something from a pocket and hurled it towards the teenagers. It hit the wall and exploded, a creepy looking cloud expanding in the water. Viktor's disappointed look was proof enough that it wouldn't have been clever to ignore the missile. Hermione hurled the protective water, now containing a cloud of something, towards the dozen skeletons to the left. They got wet as expected, but also started to fume instantly, the acid meant to kill the teenagers now destroying unfeeling bones instead.

Viktor let go of a scream of pure frustration before releasing a part of the electricity he stored. Daphne's eyes widened as their opponent reciprocated her lightning spell with one of his own. With the teenagers unable to soak up the energy like Viktor had done, they had to rely purely on Neville's defence. A seven feet needle erupted from the ground, looking like stone streaked with veins of some ore. It acted like a lightning rod, attracting the bolt of deadly energy from its former path and redirecting it into the ground below.

{"Daphne destroy animals, Mione distract Viktor,"} Neville calmly commanded, before he started to cover the dragon with a barrage of stone missiles. The girls trusted his assessment and switched positions. Daphne didn't pull her punches as she sent bolts of wind and lightning towards the remaining creatures on the right, keeping them at bay with gushes of wind while shattering and burning them with her electricity. She even had the mind to grill the last pair of wisents as they tried to leave the water.

Hermione, realizing that she was no match for Viktor on her own, changed approaches. She wanted to delay her opponent long enough for Catriona to make an appearance. Enraged as the dragon lady certainly was, she would be a welcome addition to their fighting force. Hermione allowed a small smile to slid on her face when she noticed how close Catriona already was.

"Reducto!"

She shot the spell, not towards Viktor but the ground around his feet instead. It turned the stone into a fine powder – a powder she intended to make good use of. Doing a circling motion towards the pond with her wandless hand, she pulled a few cubic metres of water and sent it towards Viktor, mixing it with the stone powder to create enough mud to cover him completely. It was fine enough to penetrate every bodily orifice, distracting him for a while and disturbing his senses. Even his special sense to "see" warmth was unable to pinpoint his enemies because of the coldness of the mud layer. It wouldn't stop Viktor for long, but hopefully long enough.

Hermione glanced around. More than two thirds of the remaining animals had already been destroyed. Barely a handful of the smaller ones were still charging the teenagers, only to succumb to Daphne's continued attacks. _She is looking exhausted_, Hermione mused. Neville had no time and energy to spare to send a revitalizing power-up, with the dragon still fighting him. Neville and the dragon executed a deadly dance, the young wizard mostly dodging his attacks and a layer of stone deflecting a couple of grazing hits, while more and more bones of the dragon got broken by stone missiles (who proved far more effective in this fight than the bone-breaker spell he had used as a try).

_Doesn't mean I can't help her instead of Neville_, Hermione silently decided. While Neville was far better at this job, she had the pond's water supporting her inner reservoir. Pulling some energy from it into her magical core and turning it into energy Daphne could handle better, she redirected it towards her friend. Daphne immediately started to recover and looked a tad healthier than before. Using a Tempestas spell to smash the last duo of animals against the chamber's wall, Daphne turned around just in time to watch the skeletal dragon succumb to Neville's attack. Her friend breathed heavily, but at least they had been able to destroy the undead horde that had disgraced this holy place. Only Viktor remained – _only_, Daphne shuddered.

Only then did a ripple in the water draw her eyes towards the pond. A late guest arrived, as it seemed. Daphne smirked. Catriona entered the scene, looking utterly pissed.

.

_**Harry**_

_Time for a little dance, Tommy-boy._

Voldemort actually cackled. _Cackled!_ Obviously, he was more than a little confident, and with reason, Harry had to admit reluctantly. The Dark Lord was hunting him around the cavern with all kind of spells, but in an almost playful way, more to exhaust and humiliate his opponent than to actually kill him. So far Harry had been able to dodge everything sent his way while reciprocating with a handful of attacks of his own. The last siege engine spell actually connected with Voldemort's chest and – according to the sounds – broke a couple of bones. This didn't stop him. In fact it did no more than slow him down for a couple of seconds, just long enough to allow the demonic runes to mend the injury.

Until now Harry had been able to keep his temper in check, but it got more difficult by the minute. The thought of what Daphne would do to him, should he get hurt because his temper snapped, certainly helped to keep him in control. _She would emasculate him with a dull spoon and let him sleep on the couch until the cows came home_, Harry thought with a dark grin. Clenching his jaws, his eyes blazing because of the hate burning in his heart, Harry put another rune stone on the ground only to dodge the next spell a second later.

"This body is unbelievable," Voldemort screamed. Harry rolled his eyes when the Dark Lord actually followed up with a "most evil" laughter. _I wonder if he practises this in front of a mirror every morning_.

Carnifex spell, third runes stone, jump – only there wasn't a spell to dodge. Harry stopped for a moment and glanced in Voldemort's direction, wondering what the crazy bastard had in mind. The creation of this number of Horcruxes had seriously damaged the balance of his mind. The months of imprisonment had obviously not been helpful to restore his mental sanity. This was the only explanation Harry had for Voldemort's next action. Instead of continuing his magical barrage, he stepped closer to his former "bed". All in all, it was no more than a bed-shaped slab of stone, weighing around 3,000 pounds. Harry's eyes bulged a bit as Voldemort bent down, grabbed the stone and lifted it in the air (with a yell like those weight-lifters used at tournaments).

"_I'm the king of the world_," Harry somehow expected a silly statement like that next. Voldemort however simply tossed it in his direction, not even nearly hitting him but shattering the stone bed on the ground and sending splinters in all directions. Voldemort cackled madly, sending shivers down Harry's spine.

Jump, place fourth rune stone, and hurl a dozen pieces from the bed towards Voldemort to distract him; Harry staggered for a moment as fiery coils rolled around in his head. The firestone was humming loudly in his heart, demanding to get used by its master, unyielding to stay dormant any longer.

"You can't beat me," Voldemort cackled. "Why don't you give up? Be a nice boy and stand still."

A Sectumsempra hit the ground only inches behind Harry, actually cutting off the tip of his left heel. _Fifth rune-stone done_, Harry mused. He kept his mouth shut, knowing he wouldn't be able to suppress a scream of hate should he allow his lips to part. So far Voldemort had mostly been standing still, allowing Harry to place a circle of rune stones around him with only marginal difficulty. Now however he started to move towards him. Harry couldn't have this. He used one of Daphne's spells to create an illusion behind Voldemort. It sounded very believable, Harry judged, watching as his friends came to help him. Voldemort actually felt for the trap. He trusted his unnatural defences to protect himself from anything Harry could throw his way and partially turned around to have a look at his new enemies.

Apparently the illusion hadn't been good enough because Voldemort instantly ignored "Illusion-Neville" and the others again very quickly, but it had been enough of a distraction for Harry to cover the last couple of yards and place the last rune stone on the ground to give his hexagon the final touch.

"Carcer Pumexis!" He activated the trap, before Voldemort had a chance to react.

_I really hope this works._

.

_**Neville**_

The moment Catriona left the pond and raised her claws to smash Viktor like an annoying insect, the battle should have been over. It really should have. But it wasn't, in fact they were far from it. While Viktor was far smaller than the enraged mother dragon and a real light-weight compared to the tons of muscles, bones and scales around fire-breathing jaws, he more than matched her in brute strength. Dodging her claws he reciprocated in an impressive way. His mighty punches cracked more than one of Catriona's scales and she limped slightly after a serious blow to her right front claw.

Right now he dodged a sweep of her left claw and returned the favour with an uppercut to her jaw, actually stunning her for a second. Crouching down, Viktor apparently prepared for a long jump on her neck, but Neville couldn't allow this to happen. He moved to intercept Viktor, realizing that his current form wasn't meant for jumping jack actions. Right now he more or less looked like some kind of stone golem, with a thick layer of earth and stone protecting his skin. It also increased his raw physical strength, something that had allowed him to keep Viktor at bay until Catriona was able to join the fun.

Now he raced towards Viktor, hoping against all hope that he would be fast enough. He had barely made three steps before an arm of water grabbed him, lifted him from the ground and smashed him against Viktor only split-seconds after he left the ground. Barrelling into the Vampire-Golem-Necromancer-whatever like a 200-pound stone missile, he was actually able to push him aside. A moment later both opponents landed on the ground with a heavy thumb. Viktor recovered faster than Neville, who only survived the following barrage of attacks because of his stone skin and the layer of water that softened the punches. Glancing back he noticed Daphne's healing magic wash over Catriona.

_I have to buy her some time_, Neville mused. He stopped Viktor's next punch with one of his own, grimacing because of the pain that raced through his hand and arm as fist met fist. Jumping Viktor, his arms wide apart, he breathed a pound of fine-powdered sand into his face to blind him for a second. Neville grappled his opponent and head-butted him for good measure. It was, again, barely enough to distract Viktor for a second or two, long enough from the real danger to allow Neville to pull the rune-covered stake from its sheath. Bracing Viktor with his right arm, he lifted the stake with his left and rammed the weapon straight through his chest.

With a noise, partially gurgle and partially enraged scream, Viktor pushed him away and staggered back, clawing at the stake. _Die_, Neville pleaded, _simply die_. But Viktor didn't intend to fulfil his wish. Slowly he tore the stake from his chest, keeping upright despite the mortal looking wound.

_Bam! _Viktor staggered as something hit him in the left shoulder, only a handbreadth above his heart.

Neville felt a watery "hand" touch his own, delivering Hermione's stake for another attack, just as the second and third rune-engraved silver bullet from Daphne's revolver slammed into Viktor, breaking his sternum and the lower jaw. Trusting her not to hit him, Neville attacked again, using the second stake to jab Viktor repeatedly into both thighs, stomach and abdomen.

_Bam! Bam! Bam!_ One shot actually grazed Neville and scratched his stone skin before slamming through Viktor's neck. The fifth bullet hit his right shoulder, whirling Viktor around and causing Neville to miss his target. Instead of ramming the stake through Viktor's chest, he only grazed it and broke a rib. However, Viktor was right in place for the sixth shot, this one going straight through his head. He staggered back from the impact. One step, two, thr… Viktor lost his balance and slipped on his arse – right in front of Catriona.

The old dragon lady didn't hesitate to make good use of the opportunity. Mighty jaws opened and went down. Viktor – to Neville's horror still living despite the wounds he received – hadn't recovered enough to dodge this attack. Too horrified to look away, the three teenagers watched dozens of five-inch teeth close around Viktor's chest, crunching down and actually biting him in halves. Head and a part of his shoulders felt to the left, legs and abdomen to the right, while Catriona turned around and spit out the chest not to poison herself with the wicked necromantic flesh.

Neville stepped nearer, putting another layer of hard stone around his right foot. He raised it to shatter the head into oblivion. Glancing into Viktor's face, Neville hesitated for a second, his eyes widening – Viktor's eyes were still open and kept a sliver of Unlife in them. He actually had a content smile on his lips. It was a really creepy sight, a sight that would hunt his dreams for months. Neville was certain that he heard a whispered "at last", before his foot came crushing down, ending this fight for good.

_It was done._

.

_**Harry**_

.

Harry's body was trembling with exhaustion and inner tension. Voldemort was an easy target right now, strong coils of lava binding him thanks to the "Carcer Pumexis" spell – a spell he had created with Neville's help. Regretfully this didn't mean Harry's victory was equally easy. Au contraire: while the healing had slowed down a bit after the twentieth curse used by Harry on his standing target, Voldemort's unnatural regeneration was still able to compensate for all the injuries Harry caused, if only barely.

Cutting curses, Reductos, and Lancea spells – Harry used them all, careful not to damage the bindings he had invoked with the assistance of his little runic helpers. The fire-stone was still humming happily. It had been filled to 75 percent of its capacity back then in the come and go room. Harry had used up to nearly a third of this stored energy so far. While he didn't have the raw capacity of storing endless amounts of magic Neville possessed, he had a different and equally useful talent: to draw immense power into his core and used it up immediately. Neville was a marathon runner, and Harry a sprinter. He had real use for this talent right now.

A smirk crept onto his face, watching one of his stone fist spells breaking Voldemort's nose and knocking out a tooth. Voldemort's hair had been burned and his robes were only shreds now. It still wasn't enough.

_I'm not fast enough_, Harry grated his teeth. The progress was discernible though. Slowly the healing runes under Voldemort's skin were succumbing to the onslaught, only it was _too_ slowly. The whole time Voldemort had been struggling against his fiery prison; now – with a loud scream of rage and frustration – he broke through one of the coils and freed his left hand. A short pulse of magic, more borne of anger than any rational thought, kicked one of the rune stones out of the rune circle. A second one followed, and before Harry had a chance to stop him, Voldemort broke free again, heavily painting and wearing traces of the past minutes, but still without lasting injuries. It was absolutely sickening.

_Who would have thought that the second battle against this sick bastard would be even more troublesome than the first_? Harry wondered, silently damning Madam Guille for her excellent work.

For a while both Harry and Voldemort continued to hurl spells back and forth in an absent-minded manner, while recovering from their exhaustion. Harry's mind was racing, searching for a new tactic to put his opponent down. Voldemort didn't look playful anymore. While neither rune-trap nor Harry's onslaught had done any serious damage, they had at least been able to permanently spoil his good mood. It was quite clear that he intended to lash out harshly as soon as possible. He wanted to quash this annoying insect called Harry Potter. _Oh how he hated that name_.

Rushed steps announced the arrival of Harry's friends. _Oh no_, he inwardly moaned, as he noticed the cruel glint in Voldemort's eyes. Hastily he flung a bolt of fire at his nemesis, but Voldemort easily dodged the attack before he whirled around and tossed a couple of spells towards the newly arrived teenagers. Neville was barely able to block a widespread Sectumsempra with a slab of stone, while Daphne swept away a barrage of lava chunks – remains of the broken Pumexis coils – with a strong gush of wind.

"LEAVE THEM ALONE! THIS IS BETWEEN YOU AND ME!" Harry roared, his voice frightening when, at last, his temper snapped. Despite his promises he had allowed Luna to be seriously hurt. Without a miracle happened, she would lose her eyesight because of that three-damned curse Voldemort had used on her. He wouldn't allow Voldemort to hurt another friend. Voldemort's body bucked slightly as a Lancea punched a hole through his left hip. A cutting curse opened a deep gush on his right shoulder, but his only reaction was a cackle, before he hurled a wave of Fiendfyre at Daphne, knowing how much it would hurt Potter to watch his girlfriend die in painful agony.

"Tholus Aquae!" Hermione spread her arms wide and torrents of water gushed from her hands, creating a dome of water to protect the trio from the deadly fire. She staggered under the onslaught, but her defence held on – for now.

"YOU WANT FIRE? I'LL GIVE YOU FIRE!"

Daphne's eyes widened. She couldn't remember seeing Harry this angry. Even without the mind-link she was able to feel the fire magic fill him up, prompting his temper to raise its ugly head. Her boyfriend was now holding the fire stone between his hands, raising them towards the sky while the stone brightened more and more, sending grave waves of heat and light all around. Even Voldemort stopped his attacks for a few seconds, impressed and surprised by the light show. He actually looked a little concerned. His instincts kicked in and, realizing the imminent danger, flashed a Messorius reaper spell to interrupt Harry's actions. A silvery crescent-formed blade of destructive magic rushed towards the young man, only to be flicked aside by the aura of elemental fire surrounding him. Neville supported Hermione's defence to the best of his abilities, while Daphne watched the impressing show with a frightened heart.

More and more the fire aura pulsed, filling the air with its heat and light, while Harry's appearance slowly changed into something new. _Give free reign to your rage_ – the fire's command filled his heart and brain. Hadn't the Emperor said the same to Luke Skywalker? The young Jedi had turned down the emperor's words, had stayed calm and self-controlled. And the result? He would have lost the fight without his father saving the day at the eleventh hour. Harry didn't intend to repeat that error. Instead he allowed hot fire and boiling rage to fill his heart. He wouldn't be controlled by the rage but instead ride it's waves. He would protect his friends. He would destroy Voldemort – now and forever. Nothing would save him from Harry's fire – no shield, no magic, and no necromantic runes.

_Let go!_

_Let go!_

_LET IT GO!_

With a mighty roar of pure rage, filled with the wish to destroy this bastard and burn him to ashes, Harry erupted into a being of pure fire. Fawkes would have been proud. Catriona, feeling the explosion even within the main chamber, was most impressed. Voldemort's eyes widened and, for the first time in this battle, he felt animalistic fear rattling him. Instinctively taking a step back, he hastily erected the strongest shield possible to protect him from… _this_ – whatever _this_ was.

Hermione gulped and intensified her water shield, unsure what would happen now right in front of them. Daphne and Neville exchanged a concerned look, unsure what to do to help their friend. Only a dozen steps away Harry attacked Voldemort's defence, his arms whirling around, hurling flames like bullwhips against the shield. Screeching noises permeated the chamber and the shield flickered wildly under the magical storm.

"We need an arrow slit," Neville commanded.

Without waiting for a response he started to weave a spell, Daphne following his example a second later. The water dome, now mostly a precaution measure with the Fiendfyre almost completely died down, opened just wide enough to allow both teenagers to hurl their elemental spells into Voldemort's flank. Daphne staggered from exhaustion, her strongest lightning bolt sizzling into Voldemort's shield. It didn't last long under the combined force of lightning and fire. The shield barely down, Neville's barrage of stone missiles slammed into the Dark Lord and rattled him. He had no opportunity to recover, as Harry's flaming whips attacked him mercilessly, coiled around his arms and legs, only to pull him towards the boy a moment later.

"Avada…" Pure terror allowed Daphne to channel enough energy into her next spell that it interrupted the death curse Voldemort attempted. She sank to her knees, unable to keep upright for another moment. Unable to resist the pull of the flaming coils, his runes trying to regenerate the burns on his arms and legs where the whips grabbed him, the Dark Lord emitted a girlish scream as the fire fast-filled his whole field of vision.

"BURN!" Harry screamed, pulling the taller Voldemort against his inflamed chest, enwrapping him with his fire. "BURN TO HELL!"

Another scream filled the air as Voldemort's robes erupted into flames. His whole body was burning brightly now. The outer layer of his skin got already turned into ashes, the runes now clearly visible as they still tried to do their work. Seconds ticked away, Voldemort being in pure agony as fiery destruction and regenerative healing magic danced a deadly tango all over his body. Even Madam Guille's runes where unable to rescue his eyes from the heat, and Harry smirked viciously as he noticed the eyes bursting like raw eggs. _This was for Luna._ With all might Voldemort pushed against Harry, punching and kicking to get free. Suddenly Harry loosened his grip and the Dark Lord stumbled back.

{"Blizzard… now"} He commanded, proving that he hadn't lost himself completely in his rage.

The dome of water – no longer supported by Hermione's magic – sank to the ground and created a puddle on the stone. Daphne and Hermione clasped hands and let go of their magic, erupting into a torrent storm of freezing water and hurling wind. It mingled and smashed into Voldemort, covering his still burning body within seconds with a thick layer of ice caking. Strong winds staggered him and temperatures far below the freezing point numbed any feeling that survived Harry's fire. For a couple of seconds he stood there, ramrod and unable to move. It didn't last long, because it was time for Neville to do his part.

Running a slight curve not to disturb the ongoing blizzard, and using the seconds before his body impacted with the ice statue in front of him to do his special kind of preparation, he pulled several stones of rocks from the ground to cover his body with. Like an avalanche he hurled himself into Voldemort, sending him flying while breaking off a bigger part of his frozen left side. An arm and a shoulder smashed into the next wall, where they shattered into several pieces. The leg was flung to the ground, the thigh frozen while the foot was still burning. The rest of the body landed right in front of Harry. Bending down, he grabbed the poor remains, the fire of life already waning in Voldemort's body. Again he pulled him into a fiery embrace, calling the flame to do their avenging work. _You hurt Luna. You killed my parents_. It was a ghastly sight to watch as Voldemort's remains burned into nothingness, smoky scraps raining to the ground, until only the charred skull remained.

The fire-stone cracked, its work done as its last bit of energy channelled through Harry's heart. Slowly, very slowly, the fire died down, and Harry turned back into a teenager once again. Meanwhile, ashes, charred bones and burned flesh piled around his feet. With a soft clonk, the fall moderated by the layer of ashes on the ground, Voldemort's head hit the floor.

"Thre's no coming back this time," Harry uttered with a low voice, before he repeated Neville's action, his foot heavily coming down and crushing the skull like a bursting melon.

From one second to the other, silence filled the chamber, the four teenagers not uttering a single sound as they struggled to understand that the war was over. They had won.

.

_**Somewhere in the Darkness**_

.

"Come here, Viktor! Come to me!"

Words like a sweet whisper permeated the cool darkness. Viktor followed them eagerly. He felt happy and content. The final voyage had found its end at last. A new voyage could begin. Turning his steps towards the origin of the call, he traversed this plane of existence. Darkness, eternal darkness – he would be part of this, now and forever. Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord – Viktor snickered, thinking about the arrogance of the man who would never see this place, never be able to rise to true immortality.

"There you are, my little Viktor. I've been waiting for you." Viktor bathed in the blackest light of her presence. She had been waiting for him. He felt welcome and accepted. Viktor bowed deeply.

"I've done as you commanded, Milady."

She gestured him to rise. "I know, Viktor. I'm proud of you."

He basked in her praise. "He didn't make good use of your present." Viktor allowed a hint of disapproval into his voice, judging Voldemort for his squander of the formidable present. "He lost his last fight against the boy. He died, forever this time."

"I know," she nodded gravely. "I expected this to happen. Despite his talent, he was still lacking."

"The boy would have been more deserving of your assistance." Viktor had no qualms to accept the talent of the elemental quartet. In his mind, each of them would surpass Voldemort if they continued their path.

"He wouldn't accept it, no now, perhaps never." There was no accusation in her voice, only a sliver of regret.

"No, he wouldn't."

She rose from her throne and offered Viktor her hand. "Let's go, Viktor. It's time to explore our new kingdom."

And with gratitude and love in his heart Viktor accepted her hand and followed her in the Darkness.

.

_**Castle Montsegur – Southern France**_

.

"He won." Delicate fingers lifted the glass with the ominous blood red content and saluted to the winner of the war in absentia.

"You expected it to happen," his oldest friend responded, slight amuse in his voice.

"I did," Baron Pascal agreed with a small nod. He had mostly recovered from the battle in Africa but still preferred spending the evening in his comfortable favourite chair. Amélie was getting better as well, her recovery far slower than his own. "I knew from the start that he would win the duel."

His old friend said nothing. He had long accepted that Pascal was often phenomenally correct in his predictions. He hadn't erred about Hafsa as well. Both men looked up as the door opened and Lillian, the venerable house-keeper and trustworthy advisor of Baron Pascal, entered the room. She wasn't alone, her companion being an expected if rare sight.

The translucent being bowed deeply, first towards Pascal's friend as he was the older and more senior by far of the duo, then towards the Baron as well.

"I bid you welcome," Pascal greeted him in his role as the host. "I hope you travelled well?" Even Pascal, despite all his knowledge and experience, had no real imagination of how his guest was able to shift between Earth and his "natural" plane.

"Everything went well," his guest responded. In his former life he had been Lillian's husband of more than five decades. Now, he was something different. Mundanes, in their blessed ignorance, would call him a ghost.

"And your message?" Pascal asked, a tad overeager.

"Madam Guille and Viktor are reunited in the Darkness. They are both well and seemed quite happy – uninterested in ever returning."

"That's good," Pascal breathed happily. Victory over both had been arduous already without them really clinging to their former life. He was happy to be rid of them. "Please deliver my greeting next time you meet, and my best wishes for their next endeavour." There was still a hint of hate in his heart because of the pain Madam Guille had caused Amélie; but now she was dead, gone, and he had the grace to concentrate on the respect he felt. Especially Viktor and his loyalty was something he was able to accept.

"I will my lord." Before he left to spend the evening with his wife, he bowed deeply towards the second man: "live long, Magister."

.

_**Darfur – Southern Sudan**_

.

A wave of excitement called Jerome's attention to something unusual happening in the Arabic village. He left the small tent he shared with his wife of many years and joined the villagers. A new guest had arrived, a guest unusual enough to stun everybody from the oldest warrior to the smallest child. Soft feathers rustled in the desert wind, and heavy paws found their way through the sand. With Meryem having been a guest to the tribe for the last half century and the tribe always being more open about magic and "exotic" creatures than the other inhabitants of Sudan, everybody knew about this heavenly creature. Didn't mean more than a handful of them had ever met one.

It was no surprise that little Yasmine of all people was the one to step forward to greet their guest. Sheikh Malak wasn't present today, having been invited by another tribe. The "nearly-six-year old" girl bowed her head and smiled: "I greet you, Lady Sphinx. The tribe of the Asim welcomes you in our humble village."

The Sphinx bowed her head in return and showed a smile – a gesture quite frightening because of her sharp teeth. Yasmine gulped and blinked, but bravely stood her ground. "I thank you, Yasmine, granddaughter of Malak." Yasmine's eyes widened again, hearing that this being knew her name. Only a handful of humans – and Meryem – knew about the Sphinx' presence at her birth, or her blessing of the child back then.

"Sister!" Jerome grinned as Meryem appeared between the villagers and jumped the Sphinx, embracing her in the strongest hug. They weren't actually sisters, as Meryem was something quite different than the Sphinx, something far older. But they had been close friends since a time long past. "I wasn't expecting you. What are you doing here?" She narrowed her eyes, noticing the hidden sadness in her friend's eyes. "Something happened," Meryem stated.

The Sphinx nodded. "An injury, one I hope to remedy with your help, my friend." She smiled hopefully. "A friend of mine is in need of your healing, Meryem."

Meryem nodded gravely. "I'll help if I can." She looked around. "Where is your friend?"

"In Scotland, my friend." The Sphinx intensified her smile, relieved that Meryem would right things. "We have to go to Scotland."

.

_**A/N**_

_It's really done. I can't believe it. 44 months, nearly 1 million words – and at last the trilogy is finished. All in all I enjoyed writing the story, and hope you enjoyed reading it as well. However, I intend to write shorter stories from now on, in the 30k-100k words range. This story got too long, too complicated and contained far too many characters and story lines to keep track of them all. _

_There will be an epilogue in a few weeks, but the story itself is finished._


	35. Chapter 35 Epilogue

_**A/N**_

_Sorry for the long delay. The second half of 2016 has been very stressful, private and jobwise. That being said, I'm happy to finally be able to finish the epilogue. It got quite long, I have to say._

_Should there be anything you would like to have added, please review or write a PM._

_Thank you all for the patience, the interest and the many helpful comments over the years._

**.**

**Epilogue – A new adeventure begins**

_**The Healing – St. Mungo – Curse Injuries Ward – 30**__**th**__** of October 1996**_

In all parts of Great Britain and even in neighbouring countries joy was in the air. People were celebrating the newest – and hopefully last – victory over Voldemort. They were dancing, drinking and doing all kind of silly things to express their relief about the end of dark times for time to come. They were celebrating everywhere but here, in the "Ward for Curse Injuries" of St. Mungo's.

Harry and his friends were waiting for news, any news. They were hoping for the best while fearing for the worst at the same time. Hermione was clinging to Neville with teary eyes. It had been a long way for her to fully accept Luna Lovegood and her "inspired" ideas about the world, its inhabitants and laws. However, there was no doubt about how much of an impact the little girl had on the logical bookworm over time. They had become like sisters and the thought to never again see that spark of curiosity and delight at the unknown in Luna's eyes terrified her. The sight of those pale, cooked eyes had been horrible.

Harry was sitting on his own, kneading his hands, barely able to stay sitting on the chair. He wished for Daphne at his side, but his fiancée was with her mother among the best healers Britain and the Congregation were able to muster. The prospects were slim. Harry glanced towards Millie, currently stomping up and down the corridor, completely ignoring the glares of the nurses. Harry couldn't imagine how the big girl was feeling – aside from being angry beyond measure. His left hand went up and touched his brow. He hissed in pain. _I deserved that – and far more_. Millie had nearly knocked him out with a single punch. As expected, she had been torn between rage and concern. Now she was waiting, like the rest of them – waiting and hoping.

.

A couple of hours later they were still waiting. Daphne, Roxanne and even Nel had admitted their inability to reverse the damage. The curse itself had been lifted; her organs were mostly back in order. They only needed a few more weeks of potion regime and quiet rest. Her eyes however were another matter. The Aestuate curse, cast by such a powerful wizard as Voldemort in his enhanced body, had completely wrecked her eyes. The medical possibilities had advanced immensely since Moody got his weird artificial eye decades ago however. There were ways to help her gain her sight back, but it wouldn't be through her own eyes. The last hope was a duo of Chinese specialists that had been called in an hour ago, but even they hadn't promised anything.

Hermione was sleeping now, her head in Neville's lap. Millie was standing a couple yards away, her head resting against a pillar. She hadn't moved for the last 30 minutes, but Harry was certain she was only waiting, tense as a coil spring. Millie was the first to move when something happened near the entrance. Hermione needed a bit longer, looking around bleary-eyed, trying to digest the weird sight.

St. Mungo's has certainly had its share of strange happenings in the past. There had been all kinds of injuries and curses to treat, all kind of patients had entered its boundaries, and some very unusual guests had arrived at its doorstep. However, never before and perhaps never again had such a couple arrived and demanded entrance. A pair of British Aurors tried to stop them, uncertain how to react to these… beings. The bigger one, however, wouldn't hear of it: without altering her pace, she simply pushed onward, her big lion-body knocking the Aurors aside. One of them moved to draw his wand. Luckily he was stopped by a curly-haired missile that barrelled into the smaller being accompanying the huge Sphinx.

"Meryem," Hermione greeted her. She felt immense relief. Everything would be good now. "You're here."

The Egyptian healer patted Hermione's back, soothing her fears and sorrows through her presence alone. "A good friend of mine told me that I would be needed here." She gestured towards the Sphinx at her side, a Sphinx well known to Harry.

"You're the one," he gulped. "You're the one from the maze, the one that told me about the Ruapehu and the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks."

The Sphinx bowed slightly and grinned – the sight more than a little frightening.

"Don't I get a hug?" she asked, reminding him of his daring move more than a year ago.

Harry rolled his eyes but complied, the sight shocking more than one observer.

"We found them," Millie whispered. The Sphinx turned around and something moved on her back. Only now did Harry realize that not two but five beings had entered the ward. Three tiny fur balls were clinging to their mother's back and watching this strange place. One of them now moved – half climbing, half fluttering with its tiny and half-developed wings – onto its mother's head to have a better look. "We found the Snorkacks."

"Did you now?" the Sphinx replied, obviously already knowing what had happened on the last vacation of Luna and Millie.

"You're here to help Luna?" Hermione's question instantly got Millie's full attention. Meryem nodded.

"Do you… can you really help her?" Millie asked with a small voice. She flinched back as the tiny creature on the Sphinx' head left its lofty resting place and fluttered towards her, clumsy but determined. Millie blinked but did nothing to evade the Sphinx-ling. Perhaps her time around Luna had taught her how to treat such a being, how to behave in such a situation. With a little bump the fur ball landed on Millie's shoulder and steadied itself, its tiny claws drawing a suppressed hiss from the girl. It turned around and bumped its head against Millie's, apparently waiting for something – a tasty morsel or a fondle at least. It got the latter.

"I'll do my best," Meryem simply replied, carefully watching the big girl. "And you'll help me."

.

_**The Funeral – Hogwarts' grounds – 31**__**st**__** of October 1996 – 1 day after the battle**_

Tomorrow there would be a time and place for celebrating, a time for joy and happiness. This evening, however, was designated to remembrance and retrospection. They had barely an hour of daylight left, the sun already low and its edge touching the treetops of the Forbidden Forest. The house-elves of Hogwarts had prepared a beautiful mound for their revered Matriarch. Mathilda had been their leader, their big aunt and grandmother for more than 150 years. She would be direly missed in coming years, despite her son already being a respected successor of hers.

Robert was standing in the middle of the assembly with Lina at his side. Since her arrival at Hogwarts barely a month ago, she had gotten close to the new Patriarch. There had been a bit of grumbling at first with her being so much younger than Robert and from a different branch of elves. This however had been stopped very fast by the open support of the late Matriarch Mathilda.

"_It's time for all elves to close ranks," she had told her clan. "House-elves, hill-elves, and wood-elves – we belong together, in these dark times more than ever."_

As a sign of their support, Matron Bryndis of the Iceland hill-elves had arrived with a small detachment of her clan, as well as several groups of house and wood elves from all over Europe. Some of the teachers only now seemed to realize the far-reaching connections and respect Matron Mathilda attained among her race in her long life.

All in all hundreds of elves had come to say their farewell. Every single house-elf from Hogwarts was present; countless family members that served one or other old family in Britain or France, some of them even going against the order of their "owner" in being here. They formed a massive ring around the mound, the whole event looking more like a gargantuan picnic than a funeral service.

"_She would have liked it this way," Robert had simply explained. "Not mourning but celebrating, not weeping but laughing, sharing, and remembering."_

Everybody brought a blanket, something to drink or a salad such as the cress/tomato sandwiches Mathilda loved so dearly or some small cake. That did not mean it was lacking a fair share of tears from all around, especially among the younger elves.

The students and teachers of Hogwarts had been invited as well. Most came and some brought their parents or older siblings with them, if only to be witness of this unusual event. Hermione, Daphne and Minerva had gotten a special invitation, only now realizing that the dresses they had gotten as presents for their daughters had a far deeper meaning than they had assumed.

"_You have been close to her. She trusted you. Your daughters will have a special place among us when they arrive at Hogwarts," Robert commented the invitations._

Harry and Neville had accompanied them, naturally, as did Augusta Longbottom. The old matriarch had been the only full human allowed in helping erect the mound, and only one of six non-elves allowed to participate in the small family ceremony that had happened within the mound prior to the far bigger funeral service.

Harry accepted a small cake from Fipsy with a thankful nod. Glancing around he smiled as his eyes came to rest on the couple to his left. Luna had mostly recovered from her ordeal, but her eyes were still hidden behind a blindfold. She had insisted in taking part at the funeral, complaining and whining until Millie relented. For hours, the big girl had been carrying her around bridal-style, showing no signs of exhaustion, which Luna looked quite content about. She was currently feeding Millie from a bowl of mixed fruits while nibbling on a one-foot liquorice stick. The little Sphinx-ling had stayed with them and was now chasing some butterfly in the grass.

It certainly was one the more unusual funerals he would ever be a part of, Harry mused. And the message was clearly written all over the place:

"We won't forget you, Mathilda. "

.

_**The Cleansing – Cornwall – 18**__**th**__** of November 1996 – 19 days since the battle**_.

At a measured step, they followed Catriona into the holy cavern. It had taken quite a toll on them to break each and every ward placed on the entrance by Viktor, to disarm every trap and cancel the magic keeping Catriona and other dragons away from this sacred place; every living dragon at least as Viktor had been more than eager to abuse their dead relatives.

There were still signs of the battle everywhere. The remains of a hundred animal skeletons littered the ground, the bones of two dead dragons dominating the scene. The ground looked scorched from the elemental fury and burned from the acid. The poisonous vapours had luckily dissipated in the meantime. They would have turned the following labour into something even more hazardous.

"We'll turn this place into something worth of your ancestors again, Catriona." Harry's low but determined voice easily permeated the place. "This place will be sacred again. Our runes will protect it from such a fate in the future." Harry had used the last week to invent a pattern of runes, integrating the work of Madam Ironsides and Professor Babbling. Hermione created the anchor stones and Daphne had been the one to weave the runes deeply into the granite. Neville would empower them, their teamwork protecting the dragon boneyard from a second desecrating. No defence was absolute, but afterwards the place would be even better protected than it ever was.

"I thank you, Dian Sgiathan." It had been no surprise to learn that the Goblins had a spell to communicate with their dragons, even if they mostly used the lesser and dumber species among them. The four friends had not told Catriona about the origin of the spell they used for communication, as it was a sore matter to talk about for the Goblins.

"Let's start."

.

"It's beautiful," Hermione whispered.

"It's a little frightening," Neville admitted.

"It's beautiful and frightening," Daphne compromised.

She got it right in the end. They were waiting outside the cave with Catriona, listening to Harry's song. Big waves of incredible hot fire billowed from the cavern entrance. Here and there all over the hill, smaller fires showed the exits of smaller natural funnels leading below. Catriona's face showed pure bliss, recognizable even for the humans around her. Unlike them, she felt the full blast of the purging magic in Harry's fire-song. He was cleansing the cavern from the remains of the dark magic that had defiled the place. With the animal remains removed and the dragon skeletons put back into their proper places, the song was the last step before they could anchor the rune stones and charge them up.

Nothing would be left behind, no trace and no sign of the days Viktor and Voldemort had been here. It would be a place of sanctified eternal peace again, and waiting for the next fourteen generations of Catriona's clan to guard over it.

Catriona nodded slowly. She was content. Catriona closed her eyes and listened – listened to Harry and his fire song.

.

_**The Departing – Hogwarts – 24**__**th**__** of June 1998 – 20 months since the battle**_

.

Hogwarts had always been crowded on graduation day, with hundreds of parents, older and younger siblings, aunts and uncles, grandparents and all imaginable kinds of friends and family members gathering to watch another cohort of students leave the castle for the last time. To watch them depart from a place many of them had called home for seven years, and to enter the world of adults at last.

This year the Great Hall was even more packed than usual, despite the Headmaster's best efforts to magically enlarge the place. Headmaster Flitwick was still not too surprised about the masses invading "his" school. Yes, it was still "his" school and would remain so in the foreseeable future. Despite the initial compromise to install him in his position only for a five-year-term, much had changed since then: Alice Longbottom, taking over her mother-in-law's seat as school governor, ruled over the board with an iron but charismatic fist. With Agatha Pinegrew at her side, she had been able to convince the board to turn Flitwick's instalment into a permanent one. No longer did he have to fear that new improvements around the school might be taken down in two years' time.

And making changes he did aplenty. Wizard culture was an integral part of the curriculum these days, alongside an up-to-date Muggle Lore course. Visits of Gringotts, Centaur Clans and Werewolf Packs as well as some more unusual trips to hill elves, Norse Mountain Trolls – far calmer and a tad brighter than their British peers – and even a very special Sphinx family down in Wales broadened the horizon of both Muggleborn and Pureblood children alike. Next year, Charley Weasley would even start a small class for future dragon handlers, teaching them all he knew about those proud creatures. A niece of Catriona, far smaller and less frightening than her aunt, was willing to help him, and offered him a chance to deepen his knowledge of the dragon tongue.

But there had been other changes as well: Next year, a new Biology/Chemistry teacher would need to be appointed, as Mrs. Granger intended to leave the school with her daughter. Petunia Evans and Caren Chentz would however remain for a while. Penelope Clearwater, Head of his old house Ravenclaw since last Christmas, now taught all regular potion classes while Severus Snape only allowed the most promising students into his special and very advanced courses. With Penelope getting her mastery last summer, Severus had even been willing to accept a new apprentice last spring. Michel Rivers, older brother of Oliver Rivers who would leave Hogwarts with his year mates today, had squandered the past four years as a low-paid potioneer because his family lacked the funds and connections to get him an apprenticeship. He had nearly fainted when his old potion teacher suddenly entered his working area to make that generous offer. He was still a bit frightened of his master, but Penelope was working energetically on that front.

With new special courses in practical Arithmancy, wand lore, xeno- and magi-biology, formal duelling – a course Filius often taught himself – sword-fighting under a gruff and scarred goblin warrior, and a whole bunch of healing classes which the Congregation used to have a look at potential recruits, Hogwarts had turned into a school Filius was proud to be headmaster of.

Yet today another school year ended and it was time for goodbyes.

Filius sighed, his eyes resting on the gathering of students who at the root of many such changes to the better. Harry and Daphne, Hermione and Neville had played an important part in this, but they were not all alone. Draco Black, now proudly wearing his new name and barely able or willing to let his fiancée leave his side for the time of the celebration, had perhaps changed the most. Long gone were the days he was mocking Muggleborn know-it-alls and promoting pureblood supremacy. He, together with his mother, hadn't stopped their renewed efforts with the Lily-Evans-Library. Since then a couple more, if smaller, libraries popped up all over Britain and his mother funded a couple of day-care school for the preparations of Muggleborn. She had started the fostering program, pairing Muggleborn families with purebloods, with the help of her late sister two years ago and it was in full works now. Even the more conservative families participated in the program if only because of the reputation it reaped.

Over there Pansy Parkinson was sitting with Ginny Weasley, chatting happily, something uterely unthinkable only three years prior. Ginny and Cedric had parted on friendly terms as far as Filius knew, and there was no lack of suitors chasing the beautiful redhead. So far she had stayed single, concentrating on her future Quidditch career. There had been offers already, and not only from the Holyhead Harpies, but she had decided to finish her education first, much to her father's relief. Next year it would be her turn to finish school, the last Weasley to leave its corridors. Her brother Ron would get his diploma as well today, only at another school. Filius frowned for a moment. He still hadn't forgiven the boy for his traitorous act. Perhaps he never would. Nonetheless, it was a good thing Ron Prewitt got another chance to live his life. Charley, one of the few Weasleys still in contact with Ron and Molly, spoke of him from time to time, although never within earshot of Ginny.

Many heads turned around as a group of newcomers entered the hall and looked for their places. Watching Petunia Evans clasp hands with Xenophilius Lovegood was still a weird and somewhat creepy sight. They were dating – more or less – at least on those rare weeks Xeno stayed in Britain instead of visiting another place somewhere around the world. He had left the Quibbler in the capable hands of his daughter Luna and turned into a dedicated researcher, his reputation sky-rocketing after he found another three formerly unknown species. Petunia, as Filius would announce later, not only finished her Muggle stadium of math, but also got her Arithmancy mastery a mere four weeks ago, a fact that would rock the wizarding world more than a little bit: She was the first British squib to get a mastery since 1659 and the very first one to get a mastery in Arithmancy. Around Easter her nerves had been strained enough for Harry to call for an intervention, forcing her to spend a weekend in Southern France with Xeno spoiling her.

Not far behind Xeno and Petunia, Filius detected one of the cutest couples ever gracing Hogwarts' halls. Six months ago, Luna, barely sixteen and legally allowed to marry within Scotland's borders, eloped with Millicent Bulstrode along with their witnesses Pansy and Ginny. Millie would finish school today, but already accepted a one-year interims job at Hogwarts. It would mostly consist in helping Madam Pomfrey and some of the teachers with easy but time-consuming jobs, nothing extraordinary, but it would allow her to stay close to her Luna. Filius had no doubt that Luna and Millie would find their way, certainly by mixing stays at Britain with some excursions on their own.

He greeted the girls with a smile, his eyes resting on theirs for a moment. A warm feeling filled his stomach as the pondered Luna's recovered eyesight. With Millie's help, Meryem had been able to heal the damage from Riddle's curse, regaining Luna her dreamy look. It still had changed, as did Millie's eyes. Luna's pale blue eyes had green flicks in them now, while Millie's green eyes had some blue slivers. There were rumours of other changes as well, of a deeper emotional and spiritual connection, but the girls had stayed silent on that front. Elsa, their fury little friend, had to stay at home today, as the Sphinx wasn't so little anymore. Last time he saw the curious creature, it was reaching his shoulders' height already.

The couple greeted Harry and his friends, exchanging hugs and smiles as they did. Truth be told, Harry had been a little miffed no to be invited to the wedding. However, despite his protectiveness about the little girl he saw like the rest of the quartet as their baby sister, he trusted Millie to take care of her. Both girls had been helpful, together with Charley and Xeno, to turn the treaty between the Dragons and Wyvern of Britain into something long-termed and broadly accepted. Only time would tell how the treaty fared when reality would kick in.

A sore point regarding Millie was her relationship with her mother. Millie never completely forgave her mother for her weakness, her inability to protect her daughter and to be proud of her accomplishments. Her mother's outspoken denial of Millie's marriage with another woman certainly didn't help either. She was present today however, willing to be polite for a day at least. Filius felt a smile creep on his lips as he thought about something that certainly would be a complete surprise for Mrs. Bulstrode who still believed her daughter to be a complete disaster and utter failure. Everybody had expected him to choose the valedictorian of the day among Daphne Pinegrew and Hermione Granger, the two students competing for the top spot grade-wise. Both stepped down and convinced him that some things were more important to learn at Hogwarts than Potions and Charms: standing up for yourself, growing up and taking a stand, changing for the better and helping others to do the same... So, for most teachers it hadn't been a real surprise when he made his choice.

"Please welcome with me the valedictorian of the class of '98: Millicent Lovegood-Bulstrode…"

.

_**Camp of Sheikh Malak – Darfur – 19th of September 2000**_

.

It was her 21st birthday.

It was the day of her wedding.

Hermione stared into the mirror and sighed. She loved her outfit. Local garb had been strange in the beginning, but it had grown on her over the years. Now she looked a little like the Arabian princess from that 1920s Rudolph Valentino cinematic she once watched with her mother nearly a decade ago.

She still had a hard time to grasp the fact that she would finally marry him today. Despite the years spent together with Neville, and the time she had been engaged to him, some part of her still expected to wake up one day from this sweet dream.

"It's really happening, sweetie." Emma Granger put an arm around her daughter's shoulder and hugged her lightly. "In no time you'll be Hermione Longbottom now." There was a hint of sadness in her voice and Hermione hastened to return the hug.

"I'll forever be Hermione Granger where it counts."

"Are my beautiful ladies ready for the big moment?" Dan Granger interrupted the teary moment. If Emma and Hermione noticed the slight shake in his voice they didn't mention it.

"As ready as I will ever be," Hermione responded with a smile, accepting the offered arm of her father.

Dan led her to the tent flap. While the engagement party had been a huge social gathering back in 'Good ol' England', Hermione and Neville had wished to be married in Sudan, where they had spent most of the past two years since graduation. They had lived the remaining time all other the world in order to learn about water engineering. While they had the dire urge to do something about the water shortage in Sudan as soon as possible, they intended to do so the right way, without causing more disruption than strictly necessary. Mostly they used Hermione's abilities to find water sources while Neville created new underground waterways with his Earth magic. It was a slow progress, slower than Hermione wished for, but it caused far less trouble than some big mojo water show.

The Grangers had accompanied their daughter, and even Alice and Frank Longbottom became well-known and well-liked camp visitors these days. Dan Granger had returned to his work with "Doctors without Borders" while Emma had started to found schools all over the country. Now and then there had been trouble with some macho behaviour towards her – surprisingly happening far more often with city officials than within the tribes – but this made her only even more determined to go through with her plans.

Dan stopped at the tent flap to allow his daughter a moment to breathe deeply. On the outside hundreds of Arabic nomads, three dozen of her close friends and former teachers, not to forget a couple of British house-elves, some of them never straying far away from Minerva and little Freya, were waiting. Harry and Daphne were also present as their best man and maid of honour, while Suha, Yasmine and Marwa filled the role of flower girls with proud smiles. Yasmine, Malak's granddaughter, and Marwa, Hermione's first Arabic patient from years ago, were still close to her. Suha, carrying a small stone bowl filled with pure water and a single water lily, had started her apprenticeship as Hermione's first pupil only three months ago.

"Ready?" Dan asked softly.

Hermione took a last deep breath and nodded. "Let's go."

.

_**Ottery St. Catchpole - Cemetery – November 2002**_

.

It was windy and raining, but the young man noticed none of it. His eyes rested on the gravestone in front of him. The grave was well-cared for and ever-blooming flowers decorated it.

_Arthur Weasley_

_February 6__th__, 1949 – November 3__rd__, 2001_

_Beloved father, loyal friend and visionary_

_We'll miss you_

The rest of the family had already left, only Bill staying at Percy's side. Bill put a reassuring hand on his younger brother's shoulder. One year ago, on Halloween 2001, a trio of wannabee Death Eaters had attacked Arthur on his way home where the rest of the family and a couple of friends had been waiting to celebrate Halloween. They had known about the resistance to his plans – plans he had started to implement after getting promoted to Head of the new "Muggle Liaison" Department. His ideas to promote unity between Muggles and Magicals, to include Squibs in the magical world in a better way and to help the parents of Muggleborn with understanding this foreign and often frightening world, hadn't earned him friends only all over Britain. They hadn't expected the resistance to turn this vicious and bloody however.

"He would be proud of you," Bill ascertained his grieving brother.

Percy had barely been able to mend fences with Arthur, to establish a relationship of love and respect with his formerly estranged father, when that murderous act brought everything to a sudden stop. He had hunted the killers down, Charlie and Bill close by his side. Afterwards Minister Fudge – re-elected in 1999 with an overwhelming majority – had offered him his father's job. Percy accepted and had done a damned good job so far, in Bill's opinion. His name, formerly mostly renowned for traits like overly correctness and stiff rule-obeying, was now already far more connected with new ideas revolutionising the magical world in a good and considered way. The newest addition to his team of advisers had been Dudley Evans and his long-term girlfriend Sophie Roper, fresh from her NEWTs.

Caringly Percy caressed the gravestone. "I'll continue your work, Dad. I promise."

.

_**Hafnarfjördur – Iceland – 1**__**st**__** of January 2004**_

.

While the fact that Hermione and Neville's wedding happened far away from English soil had been a disappointment to many fellow wizards all over the country, especially among the "very important" Ministry officials and society members that longed to be seen with the famous couple, the announcement of Harry and Daphne's plans to follow in their friends' steps had caused an uproar of epic proportions. It hadn't fazed the young couple in the least.

"_This day is about us," Harry had calmly declared. "Not about anybody willing to get something from this day." _

In the end, from among the English press only Colin Creevey and Luna Lovegood were allowed to be present at the ceremony. The four friends expected Colin to get quite the income from the pictures taken despite his promise to donate half of it to the funding of some photograph classes at Hogwarts. Naturally, a number of journalists had tried to slip in, but the local hill-elves had done a splendid job at deflecting them. A trio of the peskiest journalists had even been "convinced" to spend the day clearing out some of the stables in the neighbourhood. Being forced to shovel the turd of Iceland ponies for a couple of hours hopefully did wonder education-wise. Surprisingly Rita Skeeter hadn't tried anything funny. Or perhaps it wasn't such a surprise after all. After some not very comfortable – on her part at least – clashes with Daphne and Hermione over the years, she apparently had learned a thing or two about not to annoy those strong-willed and temperamental witches – or their protective elves. Daphne and Hermione had even grown closer if possible to the elves of Hogwarts and Iceland after their first little booklet about Matron Mathilda's life got published.

While the wedding of Neville and Hermione had been a bit like an Arabian dream come true, this day had seemed more of a Nordic fairy tale. Hundreds of house, hill and wood elves were present, their number overshadowing even the score of human and Goblin friends present. Hagrid was there as well, standing side by side with his brother Grawp. It needed quite some organization on Hermione's part to get him here. However, the pure joy in his face was worth every bead of sweat. He wasn't the only giant attending the wedding, as Matron Bryndis had convinced Daphne and Harry to have someone "earth-bound" be witness of their joining. It was meant as a way to balance the flighty elements of Fire and Air the couple represented. So it came to happen that Fuchur, a giant rarely seen even by the magical races of Iceland, was sitting a hundred paces away, unmoving, his ancient eyes never leaving the young couple. A dozen of the younger, more adventurous elf children were climbing all over him, their parents happy to have them out of their hairs for a few minutes.

Eight years before Harry had proposed to Daphne at the same spot. Eight years before Daphne had accepted, fully aware that their engagement would be a long one. Again, it was a clear night and there was an Aurora Borealis, a polar night, visible at the sky, like the powers above wanted to publicly give their consent. In reciprocation to Hermione's wedding, this time she was Daphne's maid of honour while Gabrielle, Ginny and Astoria were bridesmaids. Neville was Harry's best man and did his best not to think about the weird development of having Draco as one of the groomsmen. With Gabrielle and Ginny without partners at the moment, Remus and Sirius had stepped in. The Marauders were more than happy to be part of this. Sirius even resisted from teasing Draco – mostly.

Six-year-old Freya was flower girl together with the two-year-old and very cute Meryem. Hermione's daughter, two years younger than her brother Argyle and none too happy about the prospect of sharing her mother with those "dumb twins growing in her stomach", Meryem was a real spitfire that absolutely needed the dozen of honour aunts watching her back over in Camp Asim. Today she was well-behaved however and preened under her mother's proud smile. Argyle, the undisputed and adored favourite of Augusta Longbottom, had been named after Neville's late grandfather, a fact that had turned Augusta into a weepy mess when the name had been announced.

The sole downer was the absence of Cardinal Marcello. He had been invited to attend the wedding and even intended to come, but had taken ill some weeks ago and was too weak for such an ordeal. Harry had written him a "get well" letter and promised to visit him on the 16th, the Cardinal's 86th birthday.

Daphne was wearing an incredible bridal gown tailored of elven silk. It was floating around her like living, breathing air and water, allowing a glimpse now and then on her crystal shoes. Harry's Acromantula silken attire was more sedated and traditional, but what he lacked in clothes he more than made up with the happiest, sappiest grin his family and friends had ever seen on his face. The happy couple intended to spend the next few weeks somewhere far away – not even their closest friends had any idea about the location of their honeymoon only that it was somewhere warm and very Muggle – before returning to their old, but certainly not boring, jobs.

Harry, feeling a tad insecure about what to do with his life after his graduation and using his newfound freedom to tour the world for a while, had accepted an offer from Lara Andresen in the end. The former Danish Minister of Magic had begun to create a more permanent council of cooperation for the countries of the AVA – the Anti-Voldemort-Alliance. It was meant as a way to enhance the cooperation between the Ministries, schools and public of Britain, France, Spain and Denmark. There were permanent ambassadors, new simplifications for travels and trade, and a number of quite successful exchange programs mostly from the schools and medical services of all four countries, the last one seriously supported by Greek and Italy as well, two countries with traditionally strong influence of the Congregation of the Asp.

Other countries had shown interest in joining the alliance as well, but so far the four founders were not eager to enlarge their number. The experience with the magical ICW, as well as watching the problems of the too fast-growing Muggle EU, cautioned them to take it slow. The next step was expected to be the creation of a magical counterpart of Interpol, a brainchild of Carlos Romero, the Spanish DMLE Head, and something Harry wished to be a deciding part of.

Daphne, who had like Hermione rejected a couple of Ministry jobs, would return to her research centre/hospital located in apparition distance of Pinegrew Manor. Roxanne and Agatha Pinegrew worked part-time at the research centre that had a fast-growing reputation as being the most advanced one regarding the treatment of nerve damage and dark curses. The Congregation hadn't been happy about both girls' decisions not to accept some high-ranking position in the organization. In the end, Mother Sarah and Mother Joanna decided to choose a wait-and-see policy. They still hoped that, after some years or even a decade or two, both girls would change their mind and take a more active stance within the Congregation.

"Dear attendants, friends and family – today we gathered to join these two people in happy matrimony…"

.

_**Darfur – August 2011**_

.

„We can't tell Hermione and Neville," Emma Granger decided; her wet eyes still on what had been such a lovely camp only two hours ago. Salim, son of Malak and future Sheikh of the Asim, opened his mouth to object but closed it again without uttering a word and bowed his head in acknowledgment. The young man had really grown up since the day a barely adult Hermione Granger entered the camp of his tribe for the first time. While he still saw it as his male duty to protect the women and children of his tribe – a description that nowadays encompassed Hermione as well as her mother – he accepted their right to make their own decisions.

Emma looked around, her thoughts drifting to her grandchildren. The joining of Hermione's Water and Neville's Earth magic had done wonders to their fertility, causing some teasing from their families and friends as her daughter announced her fourth pregnancy. After Argyle, Meryem and the twins, Hermione hadn't intended to get pregnant once more. However, her fifth child would grow up as beloved as their older siblings, this for certain. The pregnancy had been a difficult one so far, and after some arduous cajoling on Emma's part, Hermione had agreed to lay low for a while. She was spending a couple of weeks with Neville with some of their Arabic friends at a fairytale oasis fifty miles to the East – lounging, sleeping and relaxing with some light reading.

Meryem was at the main camp with Tariq. Yasmine's younger brother was already a carbon copy of his grandfather Malak, and the only one so far to keep up with the strong-willed and spirited girl. Their parents fully expected the children to grow into a couple later, a thought that brought wistful smiles on Sheikh Malak's wrinkled face every time. Her brother Argyle, just turned ten and fully intended to go to Hogwarts next year. He had been allowed to visit his "Uncles" Fred and George. Hermione had only allowed this to happen because she hoped that Angelina and Alicia would reign in their husbands and prevent the worst.

This left the Twins to take care of. Emma Granger, already in her fifties and well occupied with her educational and organisational duties all over Darfur, had left the day-to-day care to a couple of honour-aunts of the Twins: mothers of the bunch of Arabic children that had grown close to the Twins. _Perhaps this had been an error_, she wondered. She felt every single year of her age right now, something quite unusual actually. She didn't look her age but more like being in her forties. The reason wasn't really clear. Most assumed it had to do with her daughter's presence or the simple fact that she spent her days in the open, doing meaningful work. Emma secretly supposed Healer Meryem to be responsible for her impeccable health.

This morning, like every other day this week, she had dropped the twins at the small camp before continuing on her way. Nadeen and Haijdar, their names meaning "Hope" and "Lion", had already shown in the past that they were far more responsible than could be expected from four year olds. They had – contrary to their older siblings – inherited their parents' special abilities as well. Nadeen was able to create the most astonishing sand castles with a wish of her tiny hand while Haijdar had the nickname "water prince" for a reason. Emma feared that these abilities had been the reason of their abduction in the end. Luckily nobody had been killed, but quite a number of mothers were injured while trying to defend the children. This could easily escalate into a tribal war. Emma had to act fast.

"Your men should stay here," Emma suggested, her voice telling Salim that it wasn't really a suggestion. "The two of us… have a visit to make."

.

The sight was a troubling one as they entered the foreign camp and for a moment Emma almost felt pity for its inhabitants – almost. Then the picture of her grandchildren being abducted returned with vehemence and her blood started to boil. The jeep stopped near the centre of the camp, dozens of eye-pairs watching them closely. The people looked poor and under-nourished; the fields around them were ill-cared for and obviously hadn't seen enough water in the past.

Emma tried to remember what she knew about these people. The Mahan or "cow people" belonged to the same ethnical group as the Asim. Their leader however was a political enemy of Sheikh Malak. His uncle had been the one responsible for Dan Granger's abduction years ago, the memory still making her mad like crazy. Sheikh Omar was barely a decade older than Salim, his mind apparently set on increasing his stance and reputation at all costs. That his men hadn't even hidden their identity while abducting the children was a bad sign. It strongly suggested that he assumed his position strong enough to openly defy Sheikh Malak.

Salim left the jeep and readjusted his weapons before helping Emma. He gulped, feeling unhappy about being here on his own. If this turned bad, he wouldn't be able to properly protect the woman at his side. Emma on the other hand had an aura of determination around her. She took a long glance around, her eyes resting on something for a moment. Salim turned around to take a look. Mothers, children – Salim furrowed his brow. Why was she more interested in the tribe's families than their warriors? There were more than enough rifles visible to make him uncomfortable.

Before leaving the jeep behind, Emma reached into the car and pulled something from behind her seat. Salim's eyes widened, as he watched Emma girding a weapon belt complete with sabre. It was a traditional weapon of the tribes despite them using more modern ones today. The sabre had been a gift from Meryem to her fiftieth birthday, complemented by a couple of fencing lesson she got from Jerome. Meryem's husband, who had been an officer in the Napoleonic expedition corps to Egypt in a time long gone by, hadn't lost his touch with the weapon and found a dedicated student in the elder Granger woman. While Emma didn't possess the talent and agility to enter any tournament, she certainly learned enough about fencing to not cut her own foot with the sharp blade.

She rarely put the weapon on show. So far she had only used it on high days or to annoy some city official. Today, however, she had something different in mind. She meant business – family business. With a steady step she walked towards the main tent. A couple of nomads moved to block her advance, only to be stopped by a glance from this weird woman. It wasn't hate they found there and not even anger alone. There was a calm disappointment, one they perhaps remembered from their mothers and grandmothers back in their childhood after doing something especially stupid.

"You aren't welcome around here," Sheikh Omar sneered. He tried to make a show of self-confidence but his eyes flickered a bit too much. That he only addressed Salim – and in Arabic to add – annoyed her even more. She certainly wasn't in the mood to be ignored.

"I'm here to get my grandchildren," she cut him short in a very brusque manner, knowing well enough how impolite he would judge her behaviour. In her opinion, however, it was more important to make it clear that this wasn't the time for endless talk and empty gestures.

Sheikh Omar grimaced as he addressed her. "Women have no right to speak when men talk."

Emma noticed quite a few nods from the men around but also the hint of something on the face of the woman standing near the tent's entrance. "Does your wife share your opinion?" She asked, nodding towards the woman. "Doesn't she have a right to speak when the actions of her husband endanger her children? When you provoke a war with this stupidity?" She raised her hand accusingly, noticing that the woman paled at the mention of her children.

"She'll do her duty," Sheikh Omar replied, barely able to stop himself from looking around. His two eldest children had joined their mother now and for a second Emma had been able have a glance at Nadeen. Her heart clenched.

"I don't doubt it. But her duty is to take care of her children, to protect them and to show them how to grow up into honest, upstanding people – men and women their family and tribe can be proud of. Not weak cowards that attack mothers and children."

Sheikh Omar growled and made a step towards her in a threatening way. Emma didn't flinch but put her hand on the sabre's grip. Salim hadn't his expression under control as well, but refrained from raising his weapon, trusting that Emma Granger had everything under control for now.

"You call me a weakling? A coward?"

„I do," Emma replied calmly. "And you would know that I'm right if you were the man your people expect you to be. Only a coward abducts children when their defenders aren't around. Only a weakling sees no other way to lead his people."

Sheikh Omar grated his teeth. He breathed deeply to regain control of his temper. "My people are starving. They need water."

"You could have asked for help."

He narrowed his eyes as if unwilling to take this option into consideration. "Sheikh Malak is my enemy."

"My. Daughter. Is. Not. Your. Enemy." Emma glared. "At least she wasn't until now," she added with a dangerous growl.

"I don't fear your daughter." He tried to sound confident.

"Your actions suggest otherwise," Emma snarked. She narrowed her eyes. "You endangered her children. Your men injured women and children that are her friends. If she hears of it, her fury will know no bounds – the fury of a mother that is friends with the Holy Lioness and the White Hag."

Sheikh Omar paled. Even they dumbest Mahan knew not to mess with Meryem, the Holy Lioness. And the White Hag had been the stuff of nightmare for a long time, long before even his grandfather had been a toddler. She certainly was as infamous around here as Baba Yaga was in Russia.

"If, not when?" For the first time his wife spoke up. Concern about her children was clearly visible on her face – as was the determination to protect them against any danger, be it this foreign woman or her own husband.

Emma calmed down. This was a concerned mother, something she could connect to. This woman was as frightened about her children as she was about Nadeen and Haijdar. That Sheikh Omar allowed her to speak despite his former words was clear proof of his affection as well. "She doesn't have to hear about this. If I get my grandchildren back and if you," she addressed Sheikh Omar now "offer Sheikh Malak your hand in peace, we can leave this episode behind is. It won't be easily forgiven and certainly not forgotten, but we can have a new start."

Omar's wife looked pleadingly and whispered. "I don't want a war. I don't want our children to grow up like this. I want them to look up to you and see the great man and leader of our tribe in you I saw at our wedding."

His resolve weakened but he still had his doubts. "Sheikh Malak won't accept my hand."

"I'm sure he will," Emma replied. She had to be careful, couldn't suggest that she was able to influence Sheikh Malak too much. "He is a man of peace, a leader with a vision. He'll see the wisdom in a truce between the Asim and the Mahan."

"And if I won't accept this?"

Emma strengthened the grip on her sabre, her knuckles white. "Then I'll cut you down to pieces, here and now."

She wouldn't be able to go through with this threat. Emma knew it and Sheikh Omar as well. Her expression however left no doubt that she would try it at least, forcing him to kill her. Such an act would make a serious blow to his reputation and start the war she had been speaking about. Omar's wife stepped between Emma and her husband, bowing her head deeply. She didn't utter a single word, but her action spoke louder than any word.

Today there wouldn't be any more bloodshed.

Today there would start a new era of peace.

.

_**London – near Diagon Alley – 6**__**th**__** of July 2014**_

.

The "Swords and Crown" looked every bit like he remembered it from his first visit more a decade ago. It had been the week after his graduation. Lucius Malfoy, back then his friend and mentor, had been generous enough to invite him to this place for a little NEWT-party. Without him he never would have entered this place. Not only were the prices far too steep for his liking – even today with money not really a concern for him anymore. The noble restaurant, located in a well-off side alley of Diagon Alley, had always made high demands on his clientele, expecting a special "distinctiveness" of them. In times past this distinctiveness had been family and blood status – a demand his companion always fulfilled contrary to his own history: half-blood and poor hadn't been high on their invitation list. Today they still expected money but added a respectable name or at least some influence and fame. No, they never would chuck you out in case you didn't met those expectations, but they certainly had a way to make you feel unwelcome. Gesture, voice and the whole social package were welcome tools to keep you away.

None of that was a concern for Professor Severus Snape as he accompanied his colleague Narcissa Black into the side room they had rented for today. Severus looked around. It was a tad too bright and colourful for his taste but assumed that Narcissa had chosen the location to make her guest welcome – a guest they were waiting for right now, while Narcissa got more nervous by the second. No, money wasn't a concern for him anymore, not after a decade of researching a couple of special potions, one of them allowing those among his former "comrades" to get rid of the dark mark he deemed sufficient re-educated from her former ways. There were other potions that bore his name, that prolonged your youthful appearance if you had the money, or helped pureblood ladies get – and stay – pregnant. None of those were cheap, and he earned quite the galleon with them, enough to be generous by secretly donating some of them now and then.

After making his order – some light white vine to start with, as he wanted her to relax, not be drunk before the conversation even started – he glanced at her. Since Lucius' death they had grown closer. Narcissa was one of the few people that knew about his role in the whole murder affair. It brought them together but also kept them apart in the end. They were friends – friends with benefits a Muggle would call them nowadays. They liked spending time together, be it a visit to a modern art gallery, some vacation on the Bermuda or some hours in her very comfortable bed. However, there had never been a misconception about the depth of their feelings for each other. They weren't meant to be together and one day they would find "the one" – _or realize that she already found her years ago_, Severus mused.

"Do you think she'll come?" Narcissa asked.

Severus had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes about the silly question. That Narcissa even asked was proof enough of her emotional state. "I remember Miss Frobisher as a responsible young woman with a good head on her shoulders – despite her regrettable Gryffindorish nature."

Fifteen years ago, he had been impressed by the girl's diligence to pursue her beautiful teacher, and quite thankful for her help in getting Narcissa out of the nightmare prison Bellatrix had put her in for revenge. Foolishly she had to destroy his good opinion of her by being the goody two-shoes most Gryffindors had in their nature. When Narcissa, after two years of dating the freshly graduated young woman, asked her to leave and look for someone her age, Vicky Frobisher had to be the noble one and obeyed Narcissa's stupid wish. Severus had felt the dire urge to knock some sense into the heads of his friends, with a cast-iron cauldron preferably, despite the fact that her decision had been the reason he had been able to lay Narcissa. Severus wasn't certain if she was actually bisexual or if it was too ingrained into her to behave like a pureblood lady: marry a man, get children and assure the continuity of a bloodline. Vicky Frobisher had left, following her house principle: I would sacrifice everything for those I love. A Slytherin would have fought for the woman he desired; a Slytherin would have led her home.

"She promised to arrive at 1 PM, together with her… companion, and I expect her to fulfil her promise." His scrutinizing look wasn't fooled by her bland mask. There was a hint of hurt as he mentioned Miss Frobisher's companion. As far as he knew she was some respected counsellor from a well-off Boston family. It was mostly a Muggle family but with their share of witches and wizards among them. This made the rest Squibs actually, not that they cared for such a differentiation. He had met the uncle of Miss Frobisher's… girlfriend? Lover? Fiancée? It had been about some patent lawsuit. After all the Magical Americans weren't better about heeding foreign patent rights than their Muggle counterparts. Without a competent counsellor and the financial backup of Narcissa and Draco Black he would have lost the lawsuit. It left a sour taste and he still didn't like the country and its magical higher society. Didn't stop him from doing business with them. A man had to earn his meagre living, hadn't he?

The door opened and a waiter announced: "your guests arrived, Lady Black."

"Lead them in."

.

Severus empathised with the young woman, he really did. Despite his reputation as a bone-hard cynic, the feeling of having his heart broken wasn't foreign to him. And a heart was breaking right now, he could watch it with clinical interest.

More than once Narcissa had wondered if Vicky Frobisher still thought of her from time to time, if she still nourished her crush after all those years. She hadn't expected it, actually, despite being selfish enough to hope for it. The question was answered with a single glance at the woman accompanying Miss Frobisher. Alexandra – _never call me Ally_ – Crane was the spitting image of a younger Narcissa; a carbon copy of a Narcissa that had still to grow into her full elegancy and grandeur. Narcissa saw it and for a second there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes, a glimmer she crushed immediately before greeting the object of her desire. It was over too fast for Miss Frobisher to notice it, but not for Severus. Yes, he saw it, and Miss Crane did it as well. He could nearly hear her heart break, despite her quite respectable efforts to gloss over her feelings.

For a while they sat together, enjoying vine and meal, more or less at least, while doing small talk. Any other day it could have been interesting to share thoughts with three quite intelligent and well-educated women, to speak about the differences and similarities between their societies and educational systems. Today however he only wished for this to end soon. It was hurtful to watch Narcissa and Vicky dance around each other, with Miss Crane getting paler by the minute.

"You're very silent today, Severus," Narcissa mentioned after a while, drawing everybody's attention to him.

Severus narrowed his eyes and sighed. After a moment of collecting his thoughts he responded a little coldly: "I wonder when the two of you will stop playing fools."

Narcissa's and Vicky's eyes widened. Both knew exactly what he was speaking about. Both grasped for words to invalidate his statement, but he stopped them with a gruff gesture. He kicked his chair back and stood up.

"Solve this. Solve it today." He fetched something from his pocket and put it on the table. It was the portkey he had prepared, a portkey meant to take Narcissa and him to that cosy hideaway on Crete that belong to Sirius Black but was often used by the rest of the family. There had been a silent acknowledgment between Narcissa and him that she could use a couple of days to recover from this meeting in case it didn't go well. Now his stony look ordered Narcissa to make good use of the place, to take someone else there and restore order as it should have been for the past decade.

Without waiting for a reply, he walked around the table and offered Miss Crane his arm. For a moment, nobody moved. Narcissa looked torn between hope and despair, her face unusual open and readable. Vicky looked guilty, but made no move to stop her girlfriend from leaving. Her body frozen, there was a painful thankfulness in her eyes as she tried to convey her feelings to everybody. Miss Crane slowly and excessively carefully dabbed her mouth before she placed her napkin on the table again.

"Thank you for the invitation, Lady Black. We should repeat this one day. Please let me know, should you ever visit Boston." Miss Crane stood up, accepting Severus' small nod with a flair of nonchalance that only good breeding and life-long tutoring generated. She accepted Severus' arm but stopped him for a last comment. Her eyes narrowing, she addressed Narcissa, her voice cold as ice: "treat her well, Lady Black. If you hurt her again, I'll make you pay."

Narcissa gulped and bowed her head. Her eyes followed the young woman as she left the place. Only after a long minute of hesitating did she dare to turn around, her eyes wandering to the young woman across her.

She had a second chance now.

She wouldn't squander it again.

.

_**Pinegrew Manor – 22**__**nd**__** of August 2018**_

.

It was time for a little gathering again. Like every year, the quartet used the last days of August for a "family and friends get together". Daphne's 38th birthday had been three days ago, a far more private affair just as Harry and Daphne loved to celebrate it. Today however it was about friends, family and the countless children that belonged to them. The new schoolyear at Hogwarts was just around the corner, so this was the last chance to meet everybody, to "oooh" and "aaaah" about how much the children had grown up and to tell stories about the last summer vacation.

It was a friendly and open affair, a garden party with barbeque, lots of strawberry punch and other cold drinks, and a dozen tables scattered all over the place to enjoy things like pasta salad, cake and a couple of strange morsels Luna or some of the other guests brought along. There was more than enough space for the children to fool around, and their laughter, shrieking and squealing filled the air. It certainly wasn't your usual sedated pureblood party, but it was how Daphne and her friends loved it.

As usual, one of the first couples to arrive was Percy and Penelope. They had gotten married in the summer of '98 and had been a happy couple since then, with Penelope helping Percy to lighten up a little bit. He was now on good term with his all of his siblings, even writing Ron from time to time. Continuing his father's work in such a convincing way had certainly helped their relationship. Unable to get children on their own, Percy and Penelope had adopted two orphans: Maddy and Jason Crosner had been two late victims of the second pureblood war. While the family had survived the surprise visit of a deranged Dolores Umbridge, the blow had been strong enough to cause months of vicious nightmares to the children. The father couldn't handle it, perhaps in part because he felt guilty about being unable to protect his family. The parents got a divorce, only to have the mother wither away and die a year later, consequence of the tortures she had experienced.

Percy heard about the children's plight and rescued them from a fate of orphanage, much to Penelope's delight. Maddy and Jason, being ten and twelve back then, were long grown up now and had children on their own, turning Percy and Penelope into proud grandparents that spent quite some afternoons with the little ones. Those were always fun but educational as well, as Percy still couldn't leave behind his urge to learn and to teach. They were beloved grandparents nonetheless. Their oldest granddaughter was riding on Elsa right now, the still growing and immensely patient Sphinx already taller than a traditional lioness.

Fred and George would join the couple with their respective wives and children later, arriving traditionally late and laden with bags full of WWW-items. They certainly were the favourite uncles of most of the children around today. Speaking of favourites: Millie and Luna certainly kept the title of favourite aunts. They had thought about adopting children or get some of their own, with a little help of magic, but so far simply hadn't been willing to settle down. There was a whole bunch of published books about their travels, the plants and creatures they found and – this part was Millie's work – what to obey regarding local customs and traditions, and how to prepare a visit of the country, including tips and tricks about voyaging, meals and clothing. This made them the most famous travel writers of the magical world – and quite renowned among Muggles as well – but left only a couple of weeks now and then to spend in Britain. However, they made it work every year to experience the Pinegrew Summer Festival.

.

"Have you seen Ginny already?" Daphne wondered. Despite their rocky start and their differences in lifestyle, the women had grown close over the years.

"Not even the ghost of her so far," Harry replied, frowning slightly while looking up from the small booklet. It belonged to a couple of books Cardinal Marcello left to him. Harry's old pen pal and confidant had died only a couple of months after the wedding of Harry and Daphne. From time to time he fetched it from his personal library to have a look. Reading it always calmed him, something direly needed on hurried days like today. "Did she say anything about her possible plus one?"

"No, she's solo right now."

"You mean between two lovers," Harry smirked. Since Cedric, there hadn't been any serious relationship so far, only "friends with benefits" and short-term lovers. Nobody had been able to fetch the redhead's heart for long, and there had been some musing about the reasons. Harry simply assumed that Ginny's heart was already taken and had been for a long time. He really hoped that Ginny would realize how much she still loved Cedric before he found someone else. The boy-wonder certainly didn't lack in female admirers – and quite some male as well.

"Hello Harry. Daphne." The couple turned around and greeted the newly arrived guests. This year, Fleur had convinced her cousin Grazyna Mazur to accompany her.

"Hello ladies," Harry greeted them with a smile and a hand kiss for Grazyna before hugging his favourite French sister-in-law – in feeling at least if not legally. She had married Charlie in a most romantic and opulent wedding; and their trio of children were the joy and delight of their grandparents both sides of the Channel. Grazyna was a rare guest at these feasts but a welcome addition nonetheless. Cormac McLaggen, who had left Hogwarts for the greener grass of Krakow, had found a formidable foe in the young woman. Despite the early warnings, he hadn't been able to keep his "urges" in check, leading to a number of detentions and bruises, followed by a lengthy visit of the local hospital. It ended six months later with a five-year sentence to a comfortable cell. Since then he had left the country and even his family had – at least officially – cut all contacts. Nobody really missed him among Harry's friends.

Hopefully McLaggen had learnt his lesson.

.

An hour later, a dozen more couples and families had arrived at the garden party. Colin Creevey joined the others with his wife Masha, a famous Muggle pantomime actor he met at one of his shootings. He was still working with Luna from time to time, but spend more time with his family nowadays since their twins arrived a couple of years ago.

Harry smiled as he watched Draco listening to Masha, Astoria hanging on his arm, both paying rapt attention to the newest story from the sparkling world of actors and artists. Draco Regulus Black, née Malfoy, as he really had changed his name the day after inheriting the Malfoy wealth, only to spend a third of it to causes that would make his "dear daddy" spin in his grave. They had only one son so far, Scorpius, about to start his last year at Hogwarts, together with Argyle Longbottom. Like Draco before, Scorpius had to endure quite some lectures from his father about being the everlasting second of his year. However, very unlike his father, Draco had always tried to prove to his son that he loved and respected him nonetheless. Scorpius and Argyle, who would be Headboy this year, had a steady friendship since their third year when both joined the same elective of wand crafting. Both didn't intend to turn their hobby into their profession, but were talented enough to get an offer of a one-year internship by a French wandmaker, a colleague and long-term friend of Olivander.

Blaise Zabini and Tracey Davis mingled with the other families, their current partners watching over them while the ex-couple shared longing glances. They had never gotten back what they had lost through the war despite their friends' best wishes. _Hopefully they'll see reason one day_, Harry hoped. In his eyes they belonged together. However, he wasn't so naïve as to expect every love to win in the end. Perhaps these two weren't meant to be happy.

"Amelia just arrived," Dudley mentioned, nudging Harry back from his daydream.

"Thanks, mate," Harry nodded and smiled shortly towards Sophie Evans, née Roper. The couple had four children. Only two of them had shown magic so far, but all four were truly beloved. Their mother cared for their studies, not unlike Hermione and Daphne would have done, while Dudley used every opportunity to induce a love for sport – and eating – into them. They had been very successful with all of this. Their eldest daughter planned to study sports medicine, while their only son already earned some prizes with his cooking. Petunia was with the couple – Petunia Evans, still, but not for long as Harry hoped. After much nudging from his daughter Luna, Xeno Lovegood had at last realized what he had to do. Harry sighed. They otherworldly man had needed longer than anybody else to see behind Petunia's serious face. He intended to propose to her tonight and Harry was more than happy about the idea.

Harry left them and greeted Amelia Bones, Brychan Camwy not far behind. Harry's former mentor had proposed to the stubborn woman no less than four times over the years. She had refused every time. _"I don't need a ring to feel loved or to love you," she explained the last time_. And love each other they did – sometimes very loudly to the embarrassment of her niece Susan. As expected she had been elected Minister in 2009, following the retirement of a well-respected Cornelius Fudge. Brychan was still her Secretary, the man at her side even without rings. Amelia Bones had been very successful in reforming the DMLE. Not everybody had been happy about it. Not everybody liked a competent DMLE or a less corrupt Ministry, but most had seen the light – and the benefits of an efficient bureaucracy.

He sighed as another ring-less couple entered the scene. Sirius Black and Carmen Sanchez had been engaged to be married a whopping three times in the past two decades. Every time the wedding had been cancelled – once on the morning of the wedding actually. They had a steamy relationship all the time, with much shouting, slapping and cursing as well as the hottest make-up sex – one of those resulted in a lifelong ban from a five-star restaurant in Chelsea. Today they avoided each other, but at least they were without their current lovers. Harry had no idea that Daphne only invited them after both hotheads promised not to annoy each other with the sight of their hated better halves.

Sirius' friend Remus had been more successful with his social life. Two years after marrying Tonks, Harry's godson Ted had been born. He would start his fifth year in a week, together with Hermione's daughter Meryem. He was a loyal friend of hers and the only one Tariq entrusted with the welfare and honour of his fiery fiancée.

While Harry used the moment to speak with Amelia and Brychan about something regarding MagiPol, Daphne was chatting with Megan Chentz, née Jones. Niles still had the friendly face and loving voice but got at least two stones more on his already sturdy frame. He was fighting a never-ending but losing battle with his love for food and his loathing of anything sporty. Megan at least hadn't given up and still tried to change his eating habits – only to yell at her beloved husband when she found another chocolate box among his socks.

Emma Granger had tried to help her with some tips about diet and healthy lifestyle, but so far hadn't been any more successful. Emma had become, with the staunchest support from a couple of European countries, UNO ambassador, specifically assigned to Sudan and neighbouring countries. While still the location of some turmoil over the years, the area had gotten better since then, with the tribal chiefs more willing to solve their problems peacefully – problems that still had mostly to do with water, food and health.

_What a wonderful result of Headmaster Flitwick's decision to make Emma Hogwarts' liaison to the Centaurs_, Harry mused.

Dan had stopped to tour around after the Twins incident of '11 and was now the calm anchor of his family, providing them with a steady home near the Asim grounds, while he still did some organizational work for "Doctors without Borders".

Yes, many friends had come and hopefully would again next year. Harry loved his big family gatherings. What a change from his childhood experience.

.

„I've gotten another letter from Terence," Hermione calmly announced a wee bit later. One-year-old Minerva Longbottom was sleeping on her mother's lap, while six-year-old Marcelo sat on the ground, playing with one of Balou's kittens. There were at least a dozen more kittens on the Manor's grounds, to Ciddy's endless delight and Paddoc's growling annoyance.

"How is he doing? "Harry asked.

"Very well apparently. His boss offered Terence to make him his successor in a couple of years. With his children old enough already, he accepted."

Harry nodded. Hermione had kept up correspondence with Terence Higgs and his Muggleborn wife for the whole time since graduation, their friendship not very close but full of understanding for their differences and the reasons behind. Hermione had been sincerely happy when Terence had been able to patch up with his mother. It was a weird friendship, one Harry didn't fully understand, like he was still a tad awkward around Daphne's friendship with the surviving Carrows.

Daphne had visited the Werewolves of Prague several times in the past, partially to learn from Ildiko but partially as well to meet with Alecto and Hestia Carrow. Aunt and niece had gotten better over time, mentally and emotionally, thanks to Ildiko's care and their growing connection with Charlotte Michaels. The girl had evolved into a stunning beauty, a Werewolf with a soft heart and graceful manners. While still close to her brother – the Ravenclaw was living in London but visited her at least once a year with his family – she had more than accepted Hestia as her older sister and Alecto as her slightly mad aunt. _They were a creepy trio_, Harry mused, _but Daphne likes them_.

"Do you think they'll be alright?" Hermione whisper-asked, sounding concerned now. Crooks, still with her after all those years and looking not a year older after some rituals that had bonded him even more closely to his Mistress than Balou to Daphne, purred calmingly. Harry had decided against undergoing such rituals with Hedwig. "_She had earned her rest,"_ he said when he parted with her more than a little tearfully a decade ago – not before Hedwig bestowed him with nearly a dozen fledglings.

Harry followed her look until his eyes rested on the Twins as well. They were speaking with their favourite aunt Freya. Minerva's daughter had never developed the usual bland of magic. Instead she showed some very rare talents from early childhood on. Luna, unsurprisingly, had been the first to acknowledge Freya's sometimes frightening ability to "see" things. Auras, ghosts, invisible creatures – you name it, she sees them. Luna had been the one to teach her, while Millie roughed up everyone who dared to insult the girl. Despite more than one bout of accidental magic, Freya had been completely unable to learn wand magic. That didn't mean she hadn't learned something at Hogwarts, only her teachers hadn't been the professors but a couple of house-elves among Lina's friends. Nowadays Freya was one of barely a handful of wizards and witches worldwide able to use elven and fairy magic. She was the sun of Minerva's life and the reason, Harry was convinced, that Hermione's favourite professor hadn't turned into an old maid but was full of vigour.

"They'll be alright," Harry tried to calm the concerned mother. "Ted promised to watch over them and they have Argyle and Meryem around as well." There had been some long discussions about what to do with the Twins. Their elemental abilities had grown stronger by leaps and bounds over the years, perhaps getting even stronger than those of their parents. One the other hand they shared Freya's fate about not being able to do any wand-magic, one of the many reasons they loved her so much. In the end, Minerva had been able to convince Hermione to send the Twins to Hogwarts nonetheless. Like Freya they would learn Magical Theory as well as every other subject they were deemed able to study. Hadjar had already shown an obvious talent with Runes while his sister Nadeen was a math whiz and one of Petunia's favourites.

He sighed. "I'm more concerned about Nelly."

Hermione patted his shoulder, rightfully distracted from her own concerns. "She's really your daughter."

Harry pouted for a moment but had to admit how right she was. Nelly, his eleven-year-old daughter, would start Hogwarts with the Twins. She was the eldest of his three children, with Charlus being eight and his younger daughter Lily just turning three. Nelly's two most distinct features were her temper and her natural ability to turn into a Wyvern, a talent her shocked parents noticed when the girl turned scaly the first time she had a temper tantrum on her seventh birthday. It was a terrifying combination and Harry had done his best to impart a couple of meditation and Occlumency techniques. Hopefully it would help.

He had his doubts.

.

_**Darfur – Summer 2083 – Eighty-seven years after the battle**_

.

_With slow, scuffling steps Yasmine walked through the village. Like three generations ago, it was a tiny village, an unimportant village in the grand scale of things. To her, however, it was important, always had been. She was leaning heavily on her granddaughter's arm. She needed the support with her ninety-two years. Every year she visited the village, doing her duty. This year would be her last visit; she felt it in her bones. Her small great grandson was accompanying her. Hamza, unlike his mother, had inherited the family's gift. Today he would help Yasmine with her duty and next year he would do it on his own. _

_Hamza would light the flame to activate the stone. He would kindle the life-giving well, the well of Hermione the water bringer._

.

"Are you alright, auntie?"

Yasmine looked up, her old eyes weary. The expression of concern on her nephew's face brought a smile to her old lips, chapped from decades under the sun and the harsh winds of her home country. Naji had always been her favourite among her nephews and nieces. After finishing her education at Hogwarts, Meryem Longbottom had barely waited a year before addressing the matter of marriage. In a wicked and heated battle, she had fought Salim, the father of Yasmine and Tariq, in an honour duel. His sword against her claws, as Meryem – who hadn't inherited her mother's water magic but her knack for shape-changing – had turned into a fully grown lioness, proud and incredible in her grandeur. She won the fight and there had been no doubt that she had honourably earned the victory. More than one member of the tribe compared her to Malak's grandmother Shadana.

The wedding had been beautiful, their marriage a beacon of hope for their people. Proving that she was every bit the woman their Sheikh needed at his side, Sheikh Salim – who had led the Asim for more than twenty years himself after his father's death – had stepped down long before his time and allowed his son Tariq to take over. Since 2047 the couple had ruled the Asim and the tribe had prospered. One day one of their children would be their leader.

Yasmine hoped it would be Naji, as the custom to have the oldest step in was no more. Luckily times had changed. Udai, Tariq's oldest son and second of his four children, had inherited the restlessness and hot-headedness from his grandfather Salim. He was great with horses, respected by the men and beloved by the women – perhaps a bit too much even. However, he had no patience and was prone to insulting those who offended him somehow. No, he wouldn't be a great leader like his father , but he could turn into a great warchief for his younger brother. All of this was idle talk, however, for the time being. Meryem was a healthy middle-aged woman still, being a witch and all, and Tariq hopefully had at least another decade to go before age forced his hands.

So much had changed since the Grangers arrived in their lands. Yasmine was thankful about being allowed to watch these times of prosperity.

"Everything is alright, Naji. Everything is okay."

.

_**Tomb of Harry and Daphne – year 2135 (and far, far later)**_

.

_It was the time of the ritual again. They had gathered to celebrate it, and it was her duty to take care of everything, to prepare them – and especially the young ones. They had to learn the ways. Tradition was important._

"_Tell us the story about their tomb again," the small girl demanded, excitedly bobbing on her hind claws._

"_Yes, Auntie, please… please," her best friend added, looking pleadingly with her big, slit eyes._

_The elderly lady sighed deeply. "I've told you the story a hundred times already."_

"_But we want to hear it again," the girls whined unisonously. _

_The elderly lady sighed again – beaten. "Alright, alright, I'll do it."_

"_Yeah!"_

.

"Everybody had expected Harry and Daphne to live for a long, long time. After all, Harry was one of the greatest wizards ever and Daphne was the most famous healer all over the world, her reputation in the end even surpassing that of her mentor Spiritualist Nowles. Certainly they would break every age record. However, that didn't happened. They said their fire burned too brightly to continue living. They illuminated the world with their fire of love and breathed life into society with their air of compassion, but in the end there was nothing left for themselves and the candle flickered into extinction.

"Harry Potter, called Dian Sgiathan – fire-wing by the dragons – was well-respected among his kind. Each and every time there was an election in Great Britain, someone asked Harry – or Daphne in a few cases – to run for Minister. Each and every time he declined."

.

"_It was better this way, wasn't it?" The small girl asked._

"_Yes, it was, dearie," her aunt agreed._

.

„Instead he stayed with MagiPol and later succeeded Lara Andresen as the head of the Council of Seven. Ireland, Portugal and Italy had joined the former AVA-countries, as did Norway and Sweden when they – together with Denmark – reformed into the magical Kingdom of Thule in 2038. Greece on the other hand remained neutral, but a close ally. Harry led the council for a long time, through deep troubles and magnificent prosperity. In 2066 France left the council after some bitter controversies about Veela rights, but re-joined two years later when it couldn't overlook Germany's advances towards the Council any longer.

"His greatest success perhaps has been the extension of the council by adding ambassadors of five other races.

"There were the Mermen, equally speaking for their own people but all water-dwellers as well.

"Then there was a representative of the elves…"

.

"_That certainly made Hermione quite happy," a boy interrupted who had been silent so far._

"_Yes, it did," the aunt nodded. "But Hermione's story is for another day."_

.

"They represented the elves of all kind and the faerie people as well.

"The third ambassador was Thudd, Grawp's oldest son. He was far more intelligent than any other giant before him, perhaps a result of his father living on Hogwarts' ground for some time. Thudd rarely spoke in the council and only when it concerned the giants or trolls, but he was respected for his wisdom.

"Unsurprisingly there was an ambassador of the Centaurs as well, speaking for the tribes and all woodland-creatures."

.

"_And the fifth was a dragon," the elderly lady was interrupted again._

_Auntie glared at the interrupter and continued._

.

"While Catriona's oldest daughter, like the tradition demanded, inherited her mother's duty to protect the sacred cave, her second daughter was the first dragon to raise her voice in such a council for a long time, perhaps for the first time since the druidic covens fifteen centuries ago. Catriona herself had died long before her time, having lost decades of her natural lifespan because of the dark magic of Viktor and even more years because of the duress to cleanse her body and soul afterwards. She got a tomb in the main cavern of the sacred caves, which had been enlarged by Hermione and Neville.

"These five ambassadors were added to the human ones, turning it into a council of twelve. And like that they stayed for centuries, mostly in harmony, sometimes quarrelling, but never openly fighting.

"The Goblins on the other hand stayed away from the council, not out of free will but because the Gnomes and Dwarves feared favouritism of their competitors if they were ingrained too closely with the wizarding nations. Veela and Werewolves only sent "counsellors" instead of ambassadors, partly to prove that they weren't something completely different, not other races but only humans with a furry or feathery problem."

.

"_What happened to Daphne?" The little girl knew the answer, but she especially liked that part of the story._

.

"Daphne Pinegrew – she was called Anail Beatha, breath of life, by the dragons. For more than ninety years she lived as a healer and researcher, helping people wherever needed. While Harry was respected, she was truly beloved. To her endless embarrassment, some of the families of former patients of hers started a cult by erecting small shrines of hers, calling her a saint and patron of healing. Even many of the hospitals followed that example, mostly in the southern countries but some in Scotland and Ireland as well.

"Only after turning 111 did she yield to the endless hustle of the congregation. Like Hermione a decade before her, she was elevated into the status of a "Mother of the Congregation", the two friends becoming a part of the leading trio for some decades. Against no small amount of resistance they ended the congregation's withhold from helping Muggles on a broad scale, starting an era of cooperation with Muggle institutions all over the world and saving thousands of people who were beyond recovery by non-magical means.

"In 2134 she died, many said heartbroken by the death of her daughter Lily. Her daughter had died in 2125, succumbing to a rare magical disease even beyond the capabilities of her mother to heal, after living a healthy 110 years, thirty-eight of those as a headmistress of Hogwarts."

.

"_And they erected a tomb on the grounds of Hogwarts for Harry and Daphne?" The girls asked._

.

"Matron Mathilda's tomb didn't remain the only one on Hogwarts' grounds forever. In 2042 a second one followed, this one for Headmaster Flitwick. Thanks to a potion regime created by Daphne, Hermione and Master Snape, he had been able to fill the shoes of the headmaster for a whopping 47 years, despite already being 95 when he started the job. His funeral had been a very public affair, with great honours both from the wizards and goblins all over Europe. Even the most die-hard opponents of the idea of a half-goblin leading Britain's premier school had to accept what a wonderful job he had done, turning the conservative school into something worthwhile and contemporary.

"A third tomb followed in 2061, this one housing the remains of Groundkeeper Hagrid. Later it was enlarged to provide enough space for his brother Grawp as well. Minerva McGonagall however, while offered a place at Hogwarts as well, chose Hafnarjördur as her resting place, the hill-elves of Iceland allowing her and Freya to live among them when old age and retirement reached out for the former professor at last.

"And in 2135 – a year after Daphne's death – Harry Potter died as well, his flame dying because Daphne's breathe left him. They created a tomb between the ones of Filius and Hagrid, the space luckily not allowing the monumental one to be created some of the wizards had in mind for their hero. Hundreds and thousands of mourners arrived, human and non-human alike. Only dragons and wyvern stayed away, mostly not to frighten the attendees. Naturally Hermione and Neville were there and many other friends; Nellie, still very sprightly despite her 128 years, had to support her younger but already decrepit brother Charlus. Teachers and students, Aurors and politicians – everybody wanted to be there, to pay his respect or to be seen. It was the biggest funeral ever, with a dozen magical televisions allowing millions others to watch the event from afar."

.

"_Yes, it was a grandiose funeral, and a magnificent tomb."_

"_And they never realized it was empty?" The little girl asked her aunt._

"_No, they never did; not the public at least."_

.

"As could have been expected, there had been threats to the security of the tomb. Even after all those years there existed some dunderheads eager to desecrate the resting place of Harry and Daphne. However, Hermione and Neville had done their best to protect their friends' peace. The stone walls were magically reinforced. Hermione created an array of runes that spoiled the best-planned intrusion, infused to the brim with Earth Magic by Neville. It was the sturdiest vault outside Gringotts in the end.

"And it was completely empty.

"Only a rare few friends knew the truth: Hermione, Neville, Nellie being the only one among their children and grand-children. Ironsides, the tough Goblin lady, knew about it as did Meryem and her husband Jerome. Among the unliving only Baron Pascal and Richard Madsin were present at the actual, both to pay their respect and to help with the building of the real tomb. It had been the first time for decades that Richard left the Mexican Hacienda he inhabited with his wife Hafsa.

"And naturally our ancestors have been there: dozens of Dragons from all over Britain and scores of Wyvern paying their respect to the greatest of their kind; never before and never again since then had there been such a scaly gathering.

"Back in 1996 Harry promised Catriona to cleanse Naomh Leac, the sacred cave. A month after the last battle he lived up to his promise, purging the cave of the evil that had festered there, using his fire-song to do so. His daughter Nellie inherited that same fire-song, as did her oldest child and grandchild. He repeated that promise later. When Catriona took her last breath, Harry was there again, affirming by oath that the cave would be save from such a vile act as Viktor's intrusion for as long as there was a breathing Dragon in Great Britain. He was determined to keep his word.

"On Halloween 2135, two months after the official funeral, Dian Sgiathan and Anail Beatha found their last resting place between the claws of Catriona. From there they would protect the sacred cave and guard the fate of the British Dragons. Their wills and magic created a pillar of fire right there, fuelled by the magic of the Naomh Leac and prolonged through our yearly ritual – the Ritual of the Cleansing Flame."

.

_The old dragon lady hugged her niece, the small dragonling sighing contently. It was the same every year, with the small ones urging her to repeat the old story. She had been the same, two hundred years ago. Perhaps one day her niece would tell the story to a new generation of Dragons. She glanced around, her old eyes resting on the three dozen dragons that had gathered today, as well a handful of Wyvern and a single human._

"_And so it happened eight dragon generations ago, that our ancestors reciprocated their oath. They promised to keep their flame alive, to gather every year on the night of Lughnasadh, the night between the 31__st__ of July and the 1__st__ of August. We meet to pay our respect to Dian Sgiathan and Anail Beatha as well as to Catriona, the Dorcha Corraich, and to renew their alliance. And we will continue to do so as long as there is a breathing Dragon on Britain's earth. And in return Dian Sgiathan and Anail Beatha will watch over us, they'll protect us and return to our side in times of our direst need."_

_She raised her right forepaw and gestured the human to step forward. Roxanne Potter-Pinegrew gulped. She was the third woman of that name since the days of old. This was the first time she would play her role in this ritual, like her father had done and seventeen generations of Potter-Pinegrews before her. Breathing deeply a few times, she switched into her scaly other self, feeling the fire filling her chest. The magic of the place reverberated in her innermost core and she felt something – someone – watching her. Any doubt was soothed, replaced by the security that this was simply right. Roxanne opened her mighty jaws and intonated it – the fire-song._

_Seconds later the dragons joined in, their flames filling the air and fuelling the sacred fire._

_And the ghosts of a small black-white tomcat and a snow-white owl watched from above. _

.

_**In the middle of Darfur – one hundred fifty feet below the surface – 2229/2236 and far, far later**_

.

_**2229**_

"Please hold me tonight," she whispered into his ear.

"Always," he responded, his eyes filled with wonder that she still loved him after all those years.

The old lady snuggled into his arms, her head resting on his chest. She had lost much of her weight over the past couple of years. Now she was only a wisp of her former self. He had felt the end nearing, her death coming. She wouldn't see the next morning, he knew.

Only a month ago had been her 240th birthday. She had lived a long life, a happy life, full of joy and love, with her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren adoring her. After Daphne's death, she continued to lead the Congregation, being a "Mother" for an incredible 99 years. Only then did she step down to use her remaining years for teaching water magic to others. All over the world small schools had started to teach her ways – the ways of live-giving water, never visible to non-magicals but always improving their lives.

One week ago, they had visited Naomh Leac. They wanted to pay their respect to their late friends for a last time before continuing on to their next great voyage. Nellie had been there, watching her grandson sing the fire-song. It had been her last visit as well.

Neville hugged Hermione closer to his chest. He felt her smile. She sighed contently.

"Love you." It was barely audible. In the background they heard the TV. It was a broadcast panel discussion from the Collega Magica in Oxford. Nadeen and Haijdar spoke with Muggle and Magical specialists, trying to find ways how to support the long-term terraforming projects on Mars with Water and Earth Magic.

"Love you too." He glanced to the left as he noticed the soft purr. Crooks was sleeping there. He certainly was the longest-living cat ever. Neville sighed. Sometimes, he missed Mandragora. Two centuries ago, he had decided against a binding ritual, allowing Mandy to live a normal owl life. He wondered what would happen to Crooks after tonight.

Thanks to his Earth Magic Neville could continue for another century at least, as he clearly knew. Age hadn't taken its toll on him like with Hermione. However, he remembered clearly that last year of Harry's, how his fire slowly died down without Daphne breathing life into his heart. He didn't want to experience the same, not endure decades without the love of his life. His children and grand-children would survive without them. From their six children, only Nadeen and Haijdar had survived this long, he assumed because of their inherited Earth and Water magic.

And Meryem. She was the grand dame of the Sudanese tribes, respected and feared in her anger. More than one quarrel she had stopped, her deathly glare cowing the hardest tribal chief into submission like a misbehaving toddler. She had buried her husband Tariq and most of her children, but nothing had been able to quench her inner fire. Sometimes he wondered if his daughter had somehow inherited that part from Harry.

No, he wanted to go with her, to continue onto the next adventure. And so he had decided years ago that he would will himself to die tonight as well. Hermione knew it, despite never speaking openly about it. And while wishing him a long life, many more decades with his family, she loved him enough to accept his decision without protest.

Neville listened to her breath, which got slower and slower, shallower and shallower. Slowly he leant forward and gently kissed her forehead.

"It is time, my love. "

.

_**2236**_

Soft, big paws found their way through the sand of the gargantuan cavern. A soft light filled the air, stemming from hundreds of crystals all over the walls and ceiling. It looked like a star-filled desert night with the morning sun approaching.

The big lioness bent her head and drank from the waters of the underground river. The water ended in the picturesque lake of the oasis a hundred feet above. Somehow the water created a feeling of peace and purity every time she was here. She liked the place. It had been created by Nadeen and Haijdar the year after their parents' death. They had been interred in the middle of the cavern, two cedars springing into life the very next day. Now, only seven years later, but growing much faster than usual, they stood there, entwined, appearing like being a century old already.

She smiled as she thought about the Twins.

Haijdar had married the daughter of Sheikh Omar of the Mahan, bringing peace to the tribes. He had met the girl on the day of his abduction and never been able to forget this one friendly face. Asim and Mahan were as close as possible today, with many marriages happening between their sons and daughters. Decades later, Haijdar's grandson even became Sheikh of the Mahan after the death of his cousin on an ill-planned hunting trip.

Nadeen had a very different fate. Staying solo for a long time, she had to get into her fifties before meeting "the one." It was an Archaeologist from Chicago, USA, and with an age of only 22 years more than three decades her junior. There had been a fiery clash of epic proportions between Nadeen and her mother Hermione about the affair, until Neville stepped in. Nadeen never married the man, who was far too much of a globetrotter to settle down, but had two children with him, born out of wedlock. He died in Nadeen's arms days after his 84th birthday.

Meryem the Elder sighed and transformed into her human self. She missed her late husband Jerome. He had died thirty years ago after nearly four centuries of marriage. It was an open secret that Neville had died before his time to stay with Hermione. Perhaps he had made the right decision. On days like these she felt every single year of her long life.

She felt a soft nose nudging her foot and looked down. "Hello Crooks," she greeted her old friend. From the quartet and their animal friends, Crooks had survived the longest. He was lonely now; she felt it, the presence of the younger Longbottoms and his own spawn not helping anymore. His life was bound to Hermione's magic and he should have died with her. However, the spiritual presence of Hermione and Neville filled the cavern, keeping him alive despite his wishes. The tomcat turned around and Meryem followed him to his favourite place under the branches of the two cedars. It was a slightly slick looking stone that was always hand-warm to the touch. He curled up and closed his eyes, dreaming of his mistress.

Meryem the Elder smiled sadly. She knelt down and fondled his fur. "It is time to go on, little one. She is waiting for you on the other side." She stayed like this until his breath slowed down, until his heart stopped. Crooks was at peace at last.

"Farewell, my little friend."

.

_**Far later**_

Another visit, another century gone by – Meryem walked the same sands, the magic of the cavern informing her about the newest visitors. Many visitors from far and wide had entered the cavern over the years. Even Ironsides had been here once, a year before she died at last. The visits of Richard and Hafsa had only stopped when they died battling a deadly coven of demon-worshipping Serpentis Vampires in Mexico City. They had won their last battle but succumbed to the wounds afterwards, Richard's fire cleansing them of the taint.

Baron Pascal still came from time to time, calmer now than in former times. He was the spiritual leader of all European Vampires, filling the role there that the White Hag had in Africa. Nowadays he lived withdrawn in Southern France, but his words still reached every corner of the Vampire society. The cavern was a place of life and harmony, but even after death Hermione was unwilling to reject any soul that needed advice or a comforting branch, be the soul alive or not.

_Every being able to understand and feeling the wish for freedom and happiness deserves them._

Happiness – decades after Jerome's death she had found happiness again. Meryem the Elder wondered what Hermione and Neville would think about her new lover. Gwydion was the latest fire-singer, descendant of Nellie like every fire-singer before him and of Freya, Minerva's daughter. Freya herself hadn't been seen for decades, but nobody doubted her to be still alive, wandering the moors of Scotland with her godmother, and tempering her difficult moods. Among the Scottish country people Freya was as renowned as Gwrach y Rhibyn, and many a wanderer prayed to her for guidance – and to distract her godmother from his steps. Meryem had met Gwydion Pinegrew a decade ago and over the years he had been able to convince her that happiness was no betrayal to Jerome. Even she deserved happiness, she accepted now.

The Oasis above had turned into a place of peaceful negotiations over time. More than once a war had been stopped or prohibited from erupting by a meeting of the hostile parties at the lake's edge. Never had a weapon been drawn there, and a meeting under the palm trees had always been a sign of hope. In 2458, two centuries after their death, the most famous meeting led to the signing of the African Magna Carta by more than three dozen governments, finally fulfilling the dream of Hermione and Neville.

The cavern itself on the other hand was mostly known as a place of fertility. Thousands of women had visited over time, praying for children. A couple dozen of them had done far more than this, bravely seducing their husbands and lovers under the trees of the double cedar. While many elders frowned on the "practice", the magic of the place not only allowed it but hid the young couples from detection. Meryem herself assumed that this part was Crooks' doing.

The couple visiting the place today had no such thing in mind. Meryem smiled as her eyes rested on Amelie's soft face. After her long and difficult recovery, Baron Pascal's daughter had visited the cavern dozens of times in the past, mostly hiding her face not to scare the other visitors. Even after all these years as a Vampire, she still kept to her humanity. Meryem knew that Amelie missed her former life. She had been Pascal's conscience for a long time, but with the Patriarch feeling his age, feeling the time of the long slumber nearing, it had been Amelie's decision to go through with something Hermione had hinted at two hundred years ago.

"I want to be human again," she had whispered longingly back then.

"I want to be human again," she sighed again tonight.

Meryem nodded. She turned towards the man at Amelie's side. It was a rare event to see the French Mage out of the country. Even after all these years, Meryem didn't know his real name, only that he was Pascal's oldest friend and mentor since the Vampire lord entered the political arena. In the 1180s, when she visited the European countries trying – quite unsuccessfully – to stop the third crusade from happening, she had met the freshly turned Ildiko who accompanied the Bohemian King to a meeting of the European nobility. At the same conference she met a young man for the first time, back then father confessor of an important Provencal noble. He had caught her interest back then and he held it even today. Still, she wasn't one step closer to lifting the secret of his long life, how he was able to still breathe thirteen centuries later. He was no Vampire, that she knew, but nothing more.

"I'm only here for moral support," he clarified his role.

Meryem bowed slightly. He was right. This day was about Amelie and her – and about the special magic of Neville and Hermione, the magic of the life-givers. Today they would work a miracle. A Vampire would turn mortal again, allowed to die in peace with her soul intact.

"Neville, Hermione – please watch over us," she prayed, continuing silently. _"And you as well, little one." _

And so they did.

.

_**A/N**_

_Four years, more than a million words, 3,000 reviews, 3 million views and endless hours my beta-reader butterfly83 tried to eradicate my gravest errors. _

_This story took some quite different turns to how I intended it to happen, but I loved it nonetheless and hope you liked it as well. Please stay on the line for more stories – shorter ones this time, I promise._


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